Talota's Rock
by Corncakes
Summary: General George Washington has asked Daniel and Mingo to go on a secret mission for the Revolution.  But Mingo has a secret of his own that has him questioning his own loyalty to the General, to the Colonies, and to Daniel.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The following work has been written solely for the enjoyment of fans and not for monetary profit. The rights to the characters initially created for the Daniel Boone series belong to 20th Century Fox and Fess Parker. All other characters are of the author's own creation. No copyright violation is intended.

Talota's Rock

Chapter One

Prologue

When he entered his own lodge in Chota, the Cherokee village, Mingo was no longer a man of two worlds, a half-breed, as many called him; his mother, the daughter of a Cherokee chief, his father, an English officer and land surveyor. In Mingo's own words, while in the world outside, "he was a confusion to himself."

Cara Mingo was the name given to him by his mother. He was raised in the land the Cherokee, named Ken-tah-teh, or the Promised Land, with his Indian mother, and English father. It was a happy life until she died and his father had to return to England, taking a reluctant son with him.

As Mingo told him, when he confronted his estranged father many years later. "So you took me with you, a Cherokee boy, not yet a man." His father's reply, "You were my son." Mingo's quick retort, "I was your shame. A savage not fit for the back alleys of that jungle you called London!" As with many sons and fathers, theirs was not the best of relationships.

The life Mingo chose when he was old enough to choose was hers, that of the Cherokee. He returned to Ken-tah-teh, and made a life of his own. In his lodge, he could embrace the best of both worlds.

The bearskin rug on the floor had been taken from a valiant adversary who had almost killed him. His hand-stitched shirt, weapon's belt that held his knife and tomahawk, his bullwhip….and a pair of moccasins that no longer fit him, one of the last things his mother made for him before she died…these were his treasures.

Talota was her name, the Singing Wind, taken by the Great Spirit while he was that "Cherokee boy, not yet a man."

On the opposite side of the lodge were remnants of his other life. The life he was forced to accept after his mother's death...that of his English father. Educated at Oxford in London, Mingo had to live in the English aristocracy, but his heart and soul belonged to the Cherokee. Three things he brought with him from England, three books, Defoe's Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels by Swift and Shakespeare, his beloved Shakespeare. The rest of that life he left in the streets of London.

The Cherokee blood that ran inside him was stronger than that of his father's English blood. He returned to the land named Kentucky, called by most of the natives that lived there, "a dark and bloody ground." He liked his name better, "Ken-tah-teh," the Promised Land. It rolled off his English tongue like the beautiful name that it was. His was a constant struggle, called "white" by his native brothers and "savage" by the many white men who hated the Indian.

In his educated ways, he did his best to make peace between the two with patience and understanding. Forced to be thick skinned when insults came his way he had no hatred in his soul. His mother's gentle nature was also his. She had warned him of the two-edged sword he would walk. It was her wish that he try to make peace between the white man and the Indian.

It was dark as Mingo walked back to his camp by Birch Tree River. Close enough that the sound of running water was his lullaby every night, when finally he laid his head down to rest. The moon had been up for hours and lit his path back from Boonesborough, the first white settlement built in the untamed land known as Kentucky. It was founded by his friend and blood brother, Daniel Boone. They had been hunting all day.

Boonesborough was half a day's walk or more from Chota so when Mingo's life found him near Daniel, his family, and the people of the settlement, his camp near this- river became his home. It wasn't as big as his lodge in Chota, but it was near a special place for him.

Inside his lodge, the handsome Cherokee warrior was ready for a good night's sleep. The twilight air was still warm from the summer sun. Tired from the hunt, he laid his weapon's belt and whip by his rifle. His long raven hair covered his bare shoulders as he took off his shirt and lay on the deerskins that covered the floor. He smiled as he looked at the multi-colored patchwork quilt that was beside him, a gift from Rebecca Boone, Daniel's wife. She worried about him sleeping out in the "elements." He would not need the quilt this hot July evening. His eyes closed as he took a deep breath and began to reflect back to an earlier time.

Listening to the river run, he could hear his mother's soft voice of long ago. "Remember, Cara Mingo," she would say to him, "as long as you can hear the running water, the life of the Cherokee will be good. Fresh drinking water for our people, for the plants and animals, for the crops we grow. To wash you at each setting of the sun and to remind you to thank the Great Spirit for the life he has given us."

At that time, he was just a boy of eleven years, living with a fear even his own mother was not aware of. Something that gnawed at his insides, until one day he came face to face with it and overcame it….or at least he thought he had.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Trapper

It was a favorite place for Mingo when he needed to be alone. Crystal Falls was one mile south of his camp, three miles from Boonesborough. The rushing Birch Tree River was two hundred feet across at its widest point and ran for several miles emptying into Findley's Lake. The Falls was more than one hundred feet across and had a steep drop leading to a swirling pool of icy water below .An army of white birch and poplars lined both banks of the river, ready for battle; the stalwart soldiers' line of defense ever blocking the sunlight so the water never warmed. At the very edge of the cascade, on the west bank were two giant boulders, level with the Falls. They were big enough one could sit on them and hear only the roar of the water as it passed on its downward plunge. When the wind was blowing just right, a light mist would touch your face.

Cara Mingo and his mother spent many afternoons sitting on the boulder closest to the Falls, so close they could dangle their feet in the rushing deluge. Years after her death, when he returned to his Cherokee heritage he still came to this place he called Talota's Rock.

She had two sons--Tara Mingo and Cara Mingo. He was the youngest of two half- brothers. They looked so much alike the only way to tell them apart was their dispositions. Cara Mingo had his mother's gentle nature and his father's English accent and education. Tara Mingo was the son of a Creek warrior. The boy was full of hatred for anyone or anything that stood in the way of becoming a great chief. He hated the white man and especially his half -brother, the half-white Cara Mingo.

The two of them were opposites in everything but their faces. Tara Mingo was violent and ruthless. In Cara Mingo's own words, "to Tara Mingo, honor was just a word, and loyalty...ashes in a dead fire."

Cara-Mingo had walked many paths since being a young boy raised in the wilderness of Ken-tah-teh. The gentle natured Cherokee did his best to live his life, a life not without conflict in this time of the Colonists upheaval with the Crown-the Crown which was half of his heritage.

His best friend, Daniel Boone was the first to settle the land named Kentucky. At their first meeting Daniel had saved Cara Mingo's life when the lone Cherokee was in the middle of a disagreement with the Shawnee. His expertise with the bullwhip intrigued the big woodsman. Cara Mingo taught Daniel how to use his whip and in return, Daniel sharpened the Cherokee's skills with his long rifle.

Now known as only 'Mingo' to his friends, he explained: 'To the Cherokee, it is not 'Kentucky, the dark and bloody ground' but Ken-tah-teh, the promised land- rich with water, game, and earth to build on.' He showed Daniel the perfect location to build his new settlement, which would eventually be named Boonesborough.

Theirs was a trust that ran deeper than brotherhood. They fought together, hunted together, laughed together, and saved each other's lives many times over. The two of them strived to build a peace between the Indian and the white man. Their love of the land and of freedom was at the core of both their beings.

It was a hot, summer afternoon, the ninth of July on the white man's calendar. Mingo was sitting on Talota's Rock watching the water pour over the Falls. As the sun shone down on it, sparkling crystals danced in the mist. At the bottom of the pool a tiny rainbow formed. The mist felt good as it caressed his dark, handsome face.

His mother was in his thoughts. Her beauty and the beauty of this marvel of nature were as one today. But there had been a day, many years before when he saw this place as a dark and cold place of terror.

A boy of only eleven years, Cara Mingo had not yet learned to swim. The pool at the bottom of the Falls was deep, the water swirling in all directions. Tara Mingo was jealous of his younger brother's closeness to their mother. He hated them both. Why would his mother marry a white man and then have a son? Tara Mingo would not accept a half-white man as a brother.

The young Cara Mingo stood at the edge of the pool, staring at the water in fear and shame. A knot formed tight in his stomach. How would he ever overcome it? From behind, he heard a familiar voice.

"You are a coward, Cara Mingo. You are weak and I am ashamed to share the same face and name with you!" it growled.

With one push in the middle of his back, he fell hopelessly into the circling eddies, no warning...no time to take a breath.

"You will swim or you will die!" he heard Tara Mingo shout with laughter.

The shock of the icy water took what little breath he had away. His first response to yell only filled his lungs faster. For only a moment, his flailing limbs remained above the surface. Then he went under...to a place of death which would haunt him forever.

He thought his young life was over…when just as quickly two big arms grabbed him around his chest. They lifted him off the muddy bottom. When next he woke, he was lying on his stomach. Someone was pushing on his back and sides, forcing the water out of his lungs and bringing the precious air back in.

"That's it, boy." a bellowing voice said. "Get that old water out of there and breathe deep."

It was a voice not familiar to Cara Mingo, but one he was very thankful for.

Coughing and gasping for air, he realized he would live to see another day…and to face Tara Mingo. The arms that saved his life picked him up and gently turned him over on his back. Facing his rescuer, he saw a white man in buckskins, middle aged. His red hair and whiskers caught the young boy's eyes first…of medium height and well built, he looked like a trapper.

"Well now. "the man said in the deep, resonant voice. "Looks like we may need some swimming lessons, eh?"

The boy sat up holding onto his chest, his long black hair sticking to his thin body. His breathing was almost back to normal--the resiliency of youth.

"What's your name, boy?"

Cara Mingo was hesitant, as most Indians were of the white man, but he liked his red hair and whiskers.

"Cara Mingo," he answered timidly.

The young boy had learned some English from his father.

"Cherokee?" the man asked.

The copper-skinned boy nodded.

"Well, Cara Mingo, my friends call me Trapper." He pounded himself on the chest. "Trapper," he said again.

His long rifle lay on the ground by his buckskin jacket. The man pointed to the water, made a swimming motion, and then pointed to himself and Cara Mingo.

"I bet I can have you swimming in no time at all. Would you like that?"

He made the motions again. The boy understood. He was still hesitant, but eager to learn and eager for an older man's guidance. Trapper took off his vest and shirt. His upper body was well muscled for a man of his age. With the two strong arms that had saved him from an icy grave, he took Cara Mingo back into the water. Within one hour's time, the youth was swimming on his own. A big triumph for a small boy, he would deal with his brother later.

The two of them climbed back onto shore, dripping wet.

Through words and motions, Trapper instructed Cara Mingo to gather some firewood so they could build a fire to dry out. The red-haired man filled a pot with water and dark powder that looked like dirt to the young Cherokee and set it on the burning wood. Then he stood over the flames trying to get his pants and himself dry before he put his shirt back on. Cara Mingo did the same; his buckskin breeches were almost dry. He wore no shirt.

"Who was the young'un that pushed you into the water?" Trapper asked him.

Cara Mingo looked at him. Trapper made the motion of pushing him into the water and pointing in the direction he had seen Tara Mingo run. The young boy hung his head.

"Brother," he said shamefully.

The man could see it upset him and tried to make him laugh.

"Well now, with brothers like that a man don't need enemies."

The youth did not understand. Trapper patted him on the back and smiled,"Next time, Cara Mingo, you can show him how you swim now."

The red-haired man pointed to the woods where his half-brother had run, then put his hand on the boy's chest, made a motion like diving into the water and then swimming. The man smiled and patted him on the chest again. A big grin appeared on the boy's face. He understood. Trapper pointed to the ground by the fire and sat down. Cara Mingo sat beside him.

The hot liquid the man poured into a cup from the pot smelled good, but to a young boy who had never tasted coffee before, the bitterness made him spit it out. As he tried to wipe the taste from his mouth, the man laughed and patted him on the shoulder.

"Yes, I guess coffee does take a bit of getting used to...Right now a bit of rum might not be bad," he said to himself.

They sat across from each other, rubbing their hands over the fire. Cara Mingo shivered from being soaked to the bone. Trapper put his buckskin coat around the bare arms of the youth and sat with him until both of them had dried out from the swimming lesson.

"I been trapping all over this wilderness, Cara Mingo. Maybe someday I'll find me a wife and have a good boy like you." He could see a smile on the boy's face as he packed up his coffee pot. "Well now, Mingo-boy, it's time for old Trapper to move on down the trail." He put his hands on the boy's shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"You're a fast learner, boy, and smart. Don't let anyone tell you any different 'specially that ornery brother of yours."

The dark brown eyes of the Cherokee youth looked at the man with respect. He put out his hand as he had seen other white men do to each other.

"Trapper," he said quietly

The man in buckskins shook the small hand.

"You're welcome, Cara Mingo," he said and disappeared into the woods.

Mingo sat on his mother's rock and stared down into the swirling pool. He never heard of or seen that man again, but thought of him often when faced with swimming in water too deep to wade in. Not even Daniel knew of his boyhood fear.

"I thought I'd find you here."

The Cherokee jumped in surprise at the voice. He turned to see the big man he now called 'brother' standing over him-buckskins, long rifle and a grin as big as a bear.

"Daniel, how is it you always manage to sneak up on me?"

"Just lucky I guess…and the fact that you can't hear anything over that doggone waterfall," the big frontiersman said pointing to the Falls.

Mingo stood to face his friend, a giant of a man-not only in stature, but in trust as well. The Cherokee did not stand eye to eye with him, not many did, but he came close.

Mingo took one last look at the Falls, almost as if to say goodbye, then walked toward him.

"What's so special about this place, Mingo?"

Gathering his thoughts, he took a moment, and then spoke. "My mother would bring us here at least once a week if not more…down there." He pointed to the river below the whirlpool, a plush green valley, where the water was not so deep. "She told us it was a good place to play." With a raised eyebrow and sparkle in his dark eyes he continued. "In actuality, Daniel, I believe she brought us here so we would get at least one good bathing or two in that week's time."

Daniel chuckled, "Smart woman, your ma."

Mingo didn't talk about his mother much, but when he did, it was with great love and respect. This was not always the case when speaking of his father.

The dark skinned man took one more look at the Falls and turned to his friend.

"You know, Daniel, I have heard of a giant waterfall located in the north, beyond Pennsylvania to New York. They say you can hear the roar of the water and see the mist for miles. We should venture there one day."

The big man stopped to scratch his back on a birch tree, and then continued.

"One day, Mingo, but not today."

They started back towards the settlement. Daniel's stride made two of Mingo's. The Cherokee stopped.

"All right, Daniel, what is bothering you?"

The big man was two steps in front of him, going on four. "What do you mean?"

Smiling Mingo answered. "Daniel, when I am not able to keep up with you and you will not even stop to let me catch my breath…something is on your mind. What is it?"

They knew each other too well. Daniel Boone put Ticklicker, his rifle's butt on the ground and leaned on her.

"I got something to ask you?"

Mingo started to back away, in jest, with his hands out in front of him to stop his friend. "Oh no, Daniel, please, it is not one of your fancy ideas to make life easier for Rebecca is it? As you remember the rubbish tarp attached to the roof of your cabin was not a success."

Daniel scowled at him.

"Now that was a good idea, Mingo. You have to admit."

The Cherokee leaned on his long rifle as well. "All I have to admit is the anger on your wife's face as she shooed away all the small animals it attracted to your yard."

The big man shook his head.

"You have no vision, Mingo."

Mingo took his rifle back in his hands. "Oh I have a vision, Daniel…and it is of a scarlet-haired woman of Irish descent, standing on your porch with one hand on her hip and a rolling pin in the other."

Daniel chuckled again. "I've had that vision myself a time or two."

They both laughed. Mingo rolled his eyes and smiled. "A time or two?"

When the Cherokee smiled, dimples appeared on his face. At least that is what Jemima, Daniel's teenage daughter told him they were called.

"There's those dimples Jemima likes so much," Daniel taunted him.

Mingo's copper-colored skin turned even redder as he thought back to the moment when Jemima told him about his facial expressions.

"You have beautiful dimples when you smile, Mingo." she told him one day, after which she blushed and apologized to him for even thinking that a Cherokee warrior would be called beautiful. It left him with a special feeling, but he did not tell her so. He smiled warmly, said thank you, and left it at that.

There was no one Mingo felt closer to than Daniel and his family. Daniel's beautiful wife, Rebecca who had nursed him more than once through bear bites to bullet wounds. Jemima, his lovely daughter, now growing into a young woman and Israel, his golden haired little boy who lived only to tease his sister and go on hunting trips with Mingo and his pa.

Daniel chuckled and brought Mingo's thoughts back to the present.

"No Mingo, it's not me doin' the askin' this time, it's the Commander-in-Chief of the Continental Army."

The Cherokee halted in his tracks.

Daniel turned and looked back at his friend. "You know, Mingo, we keep stoppin' like this, we'll never get home," he said with a big grin on his face.

"General Washington?"

"Now do you know any other Commander-in-Chief?"

"What can I do to help?" the warrior asked with no hesitation.

"I thought you'd say that," Daniel answered.

The two of them shared a deep allegiance to this young country and to the man who they both knew would lead it someday, General George Washington.

"Well..." Daniel said. ".…he asked for you explicitly."

Mingo laughed as they continued to walk down the untamed countryside of Kentucky.

"What's so funny?" the big man asked.

"Daniel, I did not know you had such a large word in your vocabulary. I am very impressed."

Dan'l shook his head. "Are you gonna listen or just make fun of my speech givin'?"

Mingo smiled. "All right, I am listening...but Daniel why would General Washington ask for me explicitly when he does not even know who I am."

The big man started his double strides again, walking backwards while talking to his blood brother.

"Because I told him that I had a friend who knows the way of the Indian, and knows this land better n anybody I know and can fight his way out of any uprisin' and if he couldn't fight his way out, then he could talk his way out, and," the big man was running out of breath.

"Daniel," Mingo rolled his eyes again. "It is not necessary to…how does the white man say it? Sugar coat your words for me. I will accompany you and assist in any way I can, no matter what the General is asking of us."

Daniel's green eyes sparkled with adventure. "Come on, I'll tell you about it on the way to the settlement."

Boonesborough looked like a fort, high walls made of standing logs, lookout stations and gun ports. It was a place where the men as well as the women could defend what they had worked long and hard for. But first and foremost, it was their home.

There was a general store of sorts that was also the local tavern run by Cincinnatus Cicero Jones. One of the original settlers of Boonesborough, he made the first trek with Daniel into Kentucky. Crusty, ornery, hard working, but good to the bone. If anyone needed doctoring, Cincinnatus was the man with the patience and skills. He liked a pint now and then, and was the best storyteller in the settlement.

Mingo and Daniel spied the fort in the distance as they walked the familiar trail, the golden Kentucky sunset framing it in the background. Even after the ball of fire disappeared from sight, it would still be a warm evening. Daniel made sure they were in the open before he began telling Mingo what the General was asking them to do.

"There's a secret garrison about fifty miles north of here, near Chandler's Crossing, deep in the woods. Only a few know about it, there's soldiers training there, and Washington's special service officers."

The Cherokee listened to every word.

"The General wants to stockpile guns, ammunition, powder, and shot there. Our job is to deliver it, but we're gonna make it look like its just regular supplies going to Curran's Settlement-- food, clothing, blankets and such. The real cargo will be in a false bottom in the wagon. I let it be known I volunteered to deliver the supplies to Curran's Settlement for an old friend. You'll meet me at the crossing in three days."

"A dangerous venture," Mingo added.

"If the British get wind of it," Daniel agreed. "We know they have spies around so we'll have to be careful."

"Maybe, maybe not," Mingo said, with an evasive look on his face.

"What does that look mean?"

"Well, perhaps we should help the wind blow in the direction we want it to blow, Daniel."

The main gate to Boonesborough was just a stone's throw away. Daniel looked at his Cherokee friend, his adventurous eyes sparkled again.

"Good idea," he answered. The pair finalized their plans as they approached the gate.

Boonesborough was growing. New families were settling in Kentucky. They either stopped at the settlement for a short time and moved on, or stayed and made it their home. As Mingo and Daniel entered the gate, all who saw them spoke to them. As they walked by, an older man in his mid 60's tipped his three cornered hat to the frontiersman.

"Hello Mr. Boone," he said with a smile.

Daniel offered his big right hand. "Mr. Shelby, how you gettin' along?"

Mingo did not recognize the older man.

"Fine, Mr. Boone, fine, thank you."

Daniel put his hand on the gentleman's shoulder. "Call me Dan'l., Mr. Shelby." He turned to Mingo. "I don't think you met Mingo yet, Mr. Shelby. He's a real good friend of mine."

Mingo straightened his shoulders, threw out his chest, crossed his arms and looked very warrior-like. The gray haired man gave him the once over backing up two or three steps.

"Oh don't worry, Mr. Shelby, Mingo don't take scalps any more, not before sunrise that is."

Mingo then smiled, put out his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, sir," he said in his polished Oxford accent.

It was a joke Daniel and Mingo played on newcomers. Mr. Shelby saw something was up, he shook the Cherokee's hand and laughed with them.

"Why Mingo, you talk better 'n some of them fancy Redcoat British officers I heard speak before."

Mingo explained to the older gentleman where his refined speech came from.

"Join us in an ale, Mr. Shelby?" Daniel asked him.

They were standing near the door of Cincinnatus' establishment.

"Thank you, Mr. ... I mean Daniel. I was going in for one, but I need to be alone. I must work on the plans for my cabin. Maybe another time I will join you at your table."

"Anytime," Daniel answered.

"It was very nice meeting you, Mr. Shelby," Mingo extended his hand.

"And the same to you, Mingo," Shelby said.

The tavern was full. On such a warm July evening it would be. Mr. Shelby took a table and laid out some papers before him. The Cherokee and the frontiersman sat down nearby in the middle of the room. Both of them had left their rifles by the door. Daniel explained to Mingo that Shelby had just moved from Pennsylvania. His wife and son had been killed a year ago when their cabin caught fire.

Cincinnatus, the balding, gray haired tavern keeper walked over to their table. With his hand on his whiskers, he spoke to the Cherokee, but glared at the big frontiersman he was sitting with.

"Mingo, how about an ale?" Cincinnatus sat a pewter mug down in front of the Cherokee. Mingo took a sip. The dark liquid was cold and tasted good on this hot summer night.

"Thank you very much, Cincinnatus."

"Hey, how 'bout me?" Daniel shouted giving the tavern-keeper a reason to rant and rave--something that happened often and regularly.

"Dan'l Boone, I will serve you an ale when you return my brush and comb which I brought with me all they way from Pennsylvany." Then the older man turned away, mumbling to himself as he headed for Mr. Shelby to take him an ale. "...a grown man, personal friend of General Washington, mighty frontiersman and all he lives for in this life is to drive me crazy with his child-like pranks!" Cincinnatus' voice raised in volume as he delivered the ale and returned to confront the big man who was trying his best to keep a straight face. "Why it's no wonder Becky has such a time keepin' Israel on his best behavior...when his own Pa can't stay on his!"

The whole tavern could hear. Mingo sat innocently, drinking his ale, his battle not to laugh a losing one. Daniel stood up as Cincinnatus walked by and stepped in front of him. Easily a head taller than the older man, he gazed down on the shiny, balding pate of his friend.

"Why Cincinnatus, what do you need a comb and brush for anyway? You're the only man in Boonesborough who doesn't have to worry about being scalped? Right Mingo?"

The Cherokee raised his hands, proclaiming neutrality.

"Please do not place me in the middle of your little confrontation with our eminent host, Daniel," He answered, lifting his glass. "I, for one am enjoying my ale."

"Thank you, Mingo, I think," Cincinnatus said. "As soon as I find out what eminent means."

The Cherokee raised his glass as if to toast the gentleman.

"Oh now, Cincinnatus, you know I like to josh with you." Daniel said. And nodding to one of the boys at the bar who reached behind the barrel of the tavern-keeper's finest stock and pulled out the misplaced objects

The room broke out in laughter.

"Oh so you was all in on it was you?" Cincinnatus roared. "Maybe you'd all like to go thirsty on this hot July evenin'!"

The negative shouts rolled in one by one. Daniel got that puppy dog look on his face as he grinned at Cincinnatus. The older man sputtered. To stay angry at the man who brought them all here and offered them a new life was impossible.

"Oh all right!" he yelled and sat a pint down in front of Daniel. He slapped the big man on the back and started laughing as he walked back to the bar. "I'll bring you another one, Mingo."

The Cherokee started to say 'no' as one was usually his limit, but their host was already on the way back with a second pint for him.

"Heard yur goin' on a supply run for Curran's Settlement, eh, Dan'l?" the older man asked. Cincinnatus was always the first to get any gossip in the settlement. "Sure you don't need Tupper there to go with you?"

Daniel fidgeted in his seat. The room was filled with Boonesborough men and several strangers passing through. Tupper and Ben, two of Booneborough's original citizens, were at a table by the bar playing checkers and arguing as usual. A half dozen trappers were having supper at tables in the back.

"Nope, Cincinnatus, just doin' a favor for a friend over there. Mingo's gonna meet me in a couple days and help me deliver the supplies, then we might just get in a little fishin'. You know how Mingo likes to fish. We'll be back here before that barrel of ale you're servin' goes stale."

"Stale! Why I never served stale drinks in my life," he bellowed as he returned to the bar.

Mingo and Daniel laughed as they finished their libations, the Cherokee just nursing the second. He wanted no headaches or other symptoms of overindulgence to cloud his senses for the upcoming mission.

"So then, Daniel, I will meet you in three days," Mingo said, loud enough so all could hear around them, but not so loud it was evident he wanted them to hear him.

They stood up, walked to the door and picked up their long rifles.

"Night, Cincinnatus," Daniel shouted.

The tavern keeper waved as did the rest of the settlers who knew them. Mingo accompanied the big man back to his cabin. It was a quiet night in the Kentucky wilderness, too warm for even the birds to be singing. Only the cicadas were whining their summer serenades from the treetops, as crickets and bullfrogs sang harmony.

"Do you think we succeeded in our plan?" the Cherokee asked.

"I think so," ?Daniel answered. "We'll find out soon enough."

"Then I will see you at Chandler's Crossing in three days, Daniel. And God speed."

Daniel shook his friend's hand firmly, a gesture of strength, honor, and trust between the two patriots.

"You too, Mingo," he said.

Outside the main gate of Boonesborough one of the strangers who had been in the tavern walked toward a grove of dogwood trees. The moon brightly shining above, he looked around to make sure no one had followed him. In his pipe's glow, as he drew in a deep breath…. the signal was seen.

"Is it all set?" a voice came from the thick dogwood shrubs. Three men had been hiding there since sunset. "We saw them leave together."

The man with the pipe nodded. "It is all set, if you go now you can catch up with him. I'll join you tomorrow."

He walked back into the settlement and back to the tavern, unseen.

"Let's go," the voice barked from the bushes and the three men headed out toward the trail to Daniel Boone's cabin.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

The Prisoner

The pounding in Mingo's head reminded him of the cannons at the Royal Military Academy in London. Someone had struck him from behind. The last thing he remembered was leaving Daniel's cabin in the late evening. About two miles down the trail to his camp, he felt a sudden pain in the back of his head and hit the ground hard. Mingo wasn't certain how long he had been out. But now as he slowly opened his eyes he saw a sliver of light showing on the horizon. It was almost dawn. He had been unconscious all night.

When the buzzing finally stopped, Mingo tried to focus on his surroundings. Cautious as always, the Cherokee was assessing his situation. He could hear the roar of Crystal Falls nearby. It had cooled off overnight. The cold damp air sent a shiver across his bare arms which were tied tightly behind him around a birch tree. He was standing, but a prisoner...of whom he was yet to find out.

Mingo could see three men sitting around a campfire. It was far enough away that he couldn't see who they were. Two were sleeping; one was pouring himself a cup of coffee. Three more cups sat close to the flames. That meant there must be one more man. 'He is probably out on lookout,' Mingo thought to himself. The Cherokee could see his rifle and weapon's belt on the ground near the campsite.

Mingo shivered. The warmth of the campfire was too far away to benefit him The man with the coffee began walking toward him. Leftover shadows of the night prevented Mingo from seeing his face, but when he spoke his voice cut through the former son of the English peerage like a highwayman's rapier.

"Mingo, my good friend," it rang out sarcastically. "I knew we would meet again one day."

The Indian's chin dropped to his chest.

"Gore," he muttered in anguish.

Thoughts of more than a year ago went racing through Mingo's aching head.

A law from the French wars had offered twenty shillings for an Indian scalp. The law was old, the war was past, but the bounty was still being paid. Mingo and Daniel had come upon a group of Cherokee men, women, and children, massacred. They had been murdered for the bounty by a band of outlaws. There was only one Cherokee left alive, a white-haired old woman, whose scalp was not valuable because of its color.

Mingo and Daniel tracked and caught the leader of the outlaws. His name was Simon Gore. His men got away, but with the old woman's eye witness statement Daniel made the official arrest to send Gore to Salem for trial. Mingo accompanied the militia taking Gore to Salem , but his men had other plans. The outlaws overpowered Mingo and the military men and freed Simon Gore. Mingo was shot in the left shoulder, but managed to escape. The militia men were not so lucky. Gore and his men murdered them all.

Standing helplessly bound to the river birch, Mingo shut his eyes and took a deep breath as he remembered what happened next. It was something he would regret for the rest of his life.

Wounded and bleeding from the gun of one of Gore's men, Mingo made his way back to Daniel's cabin. He warned Daniel that Simon Gore's men had freed him and murdered all the militia men, and that they were following. Before Daniel could get his family to the safety of Boonesborough, Gore and his men were upon them.

The Boones were made prisoners in their own home. The last thing Mingo would have ever wanted to do was endanger Daniel's family, but that was what happened. The outlaws followed his trail of blood right to their front door.

With a price on their heads, Gore and his men were not able to claim the bounty themselves. They needed somewhere to hide while a man Gore had blackmailed delivered the blood money. The Boone's cabin became that place. What Simon Gore didn't know was that a member of his own family was traveling with this same man bringing the money. Andrew Gore, wanted to surprise his father with a visit. The young man had no idea what kind of a cutthroat his father had turned into.

After the money arrived, to make sure of their escape, Gore took Rebecca, Israel, and Jemima as hostages. He left two of his men at the cabin to kill Daniel and Mingo. The two Boonesborough men were able to overpower the outlaws. With Mingo still wounded, Daniel went after his family and Gore. In the end, it backfired tragically on the Simon Gore. The man Gore had blackmailed tried to shoot him, but Andrew got in the way and took the bullet for his father. He died in his father's arms. Gore and his men were recaptured by Daniel, sent to jail and sentenced to hang.

Mingo lifted his head in disbelief.

"Gore, how ever did you manage to escape the hangman's noose a second time? Daniel and I should have attended the execution and put the noose around your neck ourselves."

The sandy haired outlaw, always with a false smile on his face, approached his prisoner. Gore was eating an apple as he stood close by Mingo. The Indian could smell the slice of apple as Gore placed it in his mouth.

"Now Mingo, is that anyway to talk? Someone heard of our talents and broke us out of jail. Is that so hard to believe?"

"What talents?" the Cherokee asked. "Robbery, murder, kidnapping…shall I continue?"

Gore pointed to the campfire where the other two men were stirring. One was thin, and nasty looking in the face. The second man was a stocky Frenchman. Mingo recognized them.

"You remember Petch and Henri don't you?" With his knife, Gored pulled back the sleeve of the Cherokee's shirt revealing the scar of the bullet wound from their first encounter. "Ahhh," Gore said. With a leering smirk, the evil white man pressed hard on the tip of the blade, sinking it into the dark skin of the Indian's shoulder. "It's healed up nicely, hasn't it?"

Mingo's face showed no reaction. He would not give Gore the satisfaction. Petch and Henri joined their leader, both acknowledging the captive with a nod of their head.

"Why look Dr. Petch, what a good job you did on our friend's shoulder," Gore said. He let the sleeve cover the scar back up and took another slice of the apple. His men went back to the warmth of the fire.

Even though Mingo was the prisoner here, he decided it was time to get some information.

"Allow me to speculate, Gore. What would make you return to this region where there is most certainly a price on your heads?" Mingo asked, smiling himself. "My guess would be money. British money perhaps?"

Gore stepped back and put his knife in its sheath. "Precisely my dear Cherokee and you are going to help me get it."

The smile left Mingo's face. Even in his present predicament, the Cherokee was adamant in his answer. "I do not foresee that happening, Gore, not in the near future, in fact not ever. Not after what you did to my people."

The outlaw walked around the birch tree and tested the ropes, making sure they were tight. Gore came back face to face with the tall Indian. The sun was making its first full appearance through the tree line as morning erupted.

"Well Mingo, you know, some lives just aren't as valuable as others," Gore said.

It was three against one and Mingo knew retaliation would be instant. He spoke with his heart and not with his head when it came to his Cherokee heritage.

"Like your own son's life?" Mingo said softly.

The smug look on Simon Gore's face turned to fierce rage. He balled his fists and, one after another laid blows on the Indian's unprotected midsection. His men rose from their positions by the fire and watched with sadistic pleasure.

Mingo was strong, but Gore's blows were incessant. He pounded him uncontrollably, like a madman. Blow after blow fell. Blow after blow which robbed him of his wind and his dignity. Mingo withstood the punishment as long as he could until finally he began gasping for air.

Gore stopped.

"You will not ever speak of my son!" he shouted. Then he hit Mingo two times in the face cutting open his cheek. The familiar taste of blood entered Mingo's mouth. Gore walked away from him. Mingo suspected it was because he had lost his temper too soon. Gore had something planned.

Mingo could feel the bruising in his ribs every time he drew a breath. His eye was already swollen. It wasn't the first time and certainly wouldn't be the last. A half-breed Cherokee living in the white man's world was never far away from a beating. He closed his eyes, swallowed, and struggled to get his breath back.

Mingo could feel the rays of the sun through the trees, trying to reach Birch Tree River. His breathing was almost back to normal, as normal as it would be with badly bruised ribs. He opened his eyes to find Simon Gore walking slowly toward him. Gore had a canteen in his hands.

"I'm sorry, Mingo. I lost my temper," he said. He put the canteen up to Mingo's mouth and let him drink. It tasted good. The outlaw waited for him swallow. "More?" he asked nicely.

Mingo shook his head 'no'. He knew Gore was sorry for the beating he had given him. Gore had made a mistake. Mingo had something the outlaw wanted and losing his temper so soon was not going to help him get it.

"I realize now the loss of your people must have hurt you as much as the loss of Andrew hurt me," Gore said as he closed up the canteen.

Mingo let the serpent talk knowing full well Gore's words were as insincere as Satan's had been. Even so, he let him continue.

"My new British allies need some information, my friend. Give it to me and you are free to go. You have my word," Gore told him.

The cold water had cleared Mingo's head. He listened and remembered.

"...and you are free to go. You have my word." Mingo had heard the very same phrase some time ago from another man with no honor, his brother, Tara Mingo.

'Those who are without honor throw their word around like drinks in a tavern," Mingo said to the outlaw.

Gore pretended not to hear him and continued.

"We know you and your big friend, Daniel Boone are going on a special trip," Gore said, then hesitated and looked Mingo in the eye. "Don't try and deny it, Mingo," he said. Gore moved closer to the Cherokee. "All I need from you is where you are going, when, and the purpose of your trip. And please don't waste my time telling me it is just a supply run to Curran's Settlement; maybe your simple minded friends at the tavern in Boonesborough will buy that story, but not me."

Mingo's dark brown eyes watched Gore's every move. 'So there was a spy in the tavern,' Mingo thought.

"I'm waiting, my friend." the outlaw stood with his arms crossed.

"A special trip you say?" Mingo laughed. "If I were you I would make certain your network of Redcoat spies are better trained, Gore. Perhaps you could accompany them into Salem. I understand there is a very good ear doctor there," Mingo laughed again. "Daniel and I are delivering some supplies to Curran's Settlement then going on a fishing trip and that is all."

Gore went around behind the tree again. The outlaw grabbed the ropes that held Mingo prisoner and pulled them so tight the Cherokee could feel them cut into his wrists. Mingo flinched, but remained steadfast.

"Mingo, my brother, you and I both know you are lying. And I don't like liars, they can't be trusted."

"Trust? What would you know of the word?" the Cherokee shot back quietly.

The outlaw rounded the tree to confront his prisoner once more. "Now I am a patient man, but only to a point."

Mingo stared into the face of his captor. "First and foremost, Gore," he said. "Let me correct you. You are not my brother. There is only one man I call brother." Mingo took a deep breath knowing full well he would face some sort of punishment for his attitude. "And second, Daniel and I are going on a fishing trip...nothing more...nothing less."

Petch and Henri were still standing by the fire. The rotund Frenchman was putting on his coat and checking his pistol.

'Time for a lookout change,' Mingo thought to himself.

"Ahh yes, your faithful blood brother, Daniel Boone. I owe him as I do you," Gore said placing his hand on his own neck. "Two times sent to the gallows. I don't plan on a third."

Gore's wry smile telegraphed his insincerity and growing impatience as he confronted his prisoner. Mingo straightened his shoulders and stood ready.

"But trust is a word that I do know, Mingo and I feel you don't trust me. I think we need to change that."

The blade of sarcasm in his voice was as sharp as any sword.

With no warning Gore tore open the front of Mingo's shirt. He ripped the beads from around Mingo's neck and threw them on the ground. Then with one swift motion of his knife Gore cut a deep gash across the Cherokee's muscled chest.

Throwing his head back against the tree and closing his eyes, Mingo set his jaw and breathed deeply through his nose, hoping to absorb the pain and ignore it. His fists were clenched behind him. When Mingo opened his eyes, the outlaw had made a small cut in the palm of his own left hand. The Cherokee pursed his lips for what was to come next.

Gore placed his own bleeding hand on Mingo's chest, pushing him hard against the tree. The outlaw had a way of making this torture sound like it was a good thing for both of them. "I want us to be blood brothers, Mingo," he said, "I want you to trust me as much as you trust your other 'brother'. For right now, Cherokee, your life is in my hands."

Mingo closed his eyes and bit his lip to keep from giving the fugitive any satisfaction of the pain he was in. By the time he opened them, Gore had wrapped the white neck scarf he wore around the small cut on his hand. With his knife in his right hand, Gore pressed the blade up against Mingo's bare skin.

"And now, Mingo, our blood is one. And you will tell me what I want to know, now!" Gore's voice was beginning to lose it's sarcastic edge and starting to become only dangerous.. "For my friend, my patience is wearing very thin and the next blood that is shed will be more than just a cut on your chest!"

Mingo could feel the cold steel of Gore's knife against his heart. In defiance, the Cherokee spoke low and clear.

"Your blood may have mixed with mine, but it will never run through my veins. I told you before; there is only one I give my trust to," Mingo swallowed. "His blood runs one with mine; even now I feel his strength within me." Beads of sweat were forming on his face and body. Mingo's long black hair, soaked in sweat as well, was cold on the back of his neck. "Your name and his should not even be spoken in the same breath." The ice in his voice let the outlaw know his mission was not going be an easy one.

Gore turned in disgust. Mingo relaxed. He had called his bluff-the madman wasn't ready to kill his prisoner yet.

The unidentified fourth man had come in from his lookout position. Mingo watched him as he went to the fire. As he warmed his hands over the flames, Mingo smelled the familiar odor of burning tobacco. The fourth man had lit up his pipe.

Mingo squinted against the flames. He could not make out his form clearly for his eyes were watering from all he had endured. Simon Gore went over and talked with the man. Then returned to his prisoner, his pistol drawn.

"One more time, Mingo. What are you and Boone up to!?"

Mingo let his eyes drop to the pistol. Then they returned to the outlaw. and with all the strength he could muster, he answered in full voice.

"One more time, Gore...fishing."

The butt of Gore's pistol hit hard against Mingo's temple. The daylight faded for the Cherokee. As he lost consciousness Mingo felt Gore begin to undo the ropes that bound him to the tree.

"No more time, Indian. You brought this on yourself."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

An Old Friend

Daniel slipped out of Boonesborough early in the morning, unnoticed. Even Rebecca didn't know the real mission he and Mingo would be on.. He would pick up the wagon at Allegany Pass. The supplies would be waiting at another undisclosed location. Daniel would find that out when he got the wagon at the Pass. Keeping one step ahead of the British wasn't always easy, but always necessary. Daniel grinned. He could easily lose any Redcoats that would try to follow him through the hills of Kentucky. He could cover more ground on foot than most men. His six-foot plus frame, long legs and strong back were made for the wilderness he loved. It looked to be a pretty day. As he walked, he thought about Mingo.

The night before, when the two of them parted at his cabin, they shook hands.

'God speed,' was the Cherokee's goodbye to his blood brother.

Mingo was a man he could always depend on. From the first time they met, it was evident to him. How the Indian survived in a world dominated by the white man was a credit to his nature. Mingo kept his feelings to himself for the most part. His nature was to try and solve a problem peacefully. Daniel had only seen Mingo lose his temper one or two times.

It was the same with Mingo's past. The Cherokee was a private man. Daniel only knew what his friend chose to share with him. The big frontiersman respected that. When Mingo decided to talk about something then Daniel listened. He knew of his Cherokee mother, and English father, how her death came too soon for a little boy. And Daniel knew how having to live and be raised as an Englishman was not the right path for Mingo. He was Cherokee and proud of it.

Mingo understood and appreciated the way of the white man.. In that way he and Daniel were always striving for the same goal...peace between the redman and the settlers. His and his Cherokee friend's spirits, hearts, and trust were as one. They had a bond closer than most brothers. It was something the frontiersman valued very highly.

Suddenly the warmth of the sun made its presence known on Daniel's face. The big man took a handkerchief out of his vest pocket and wiped his brow. A warm summer wind was swirling the dust on the road in front of him. While his mind had been elsewhere, his feet had carried him many miles. He hadn't realized how far he had walked.

Something was moving in the trees to his right. Daniel used the handkerchief to wipe the back of his neck while at the same time looking to see who or what it was. He made sure Tickclicker was at the ready.

"Dan'l," a voice came from that direction, behind a sign that read,

'Allegany Pass, One Mile Ahead'.

"Dan'l," the voice said again.

"Andy?" the frontiersman queried. Daniel had made it to his first stop on the mission.

Andy Willis was the only blacksmith in the little town of Allegany Pass. He had come with Daniel to settle in Kentucky, but never got by the Pass and Sadie Green. Sadie ran the best eating establishment in town. Her auburn hair, green eyes, good humor and home cooked meals put a halt to Andy traveling any further. They were married one month later. He and Daniel had remained friends-good friends. So good in fact that Daniel trusted Andy with getting him a wagon big enough for this job. And Andy did so-without asking Daniel any questions.

"Dan'l," Andy called again. The burly blacksmith was trying to hide behind a thin poplar sapling. He was not succeeding.

Daniel smiled, "Andy, if you tryin' to hide behind that poor little saplin' for cover, it ain't workin. You got a mite more bark on you than it does."

The twinkle in Andy's eyes when he smiled made Daniel laugh aloud. The smithy bent the sapling back to greet his old friend. Andy's face was red as a beet- and not from the sun.

Daniel leaned his long rifle up against the poplar and put out his hand.

"Aww Dan'l," Andy said as they shook hands. "How you been?"

"Real good, and you, Andy? I think you lost a little weight." Daniel jabbed the shorter man in the belly. It was all muscle, no fat. "Ain't Sadie been feedin' you?"

Andy was built like a black bear, short and stocky, and just as strong, with curly black hair that made Sadie Green pay attention the first time they met. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal forearms twice as big as the frontiersman's and he had a scarf around his neck to soak up the sweat. Andy laughed, "Now Dan'l, you know better than that."

"How is Sadie?" Daniel asked him.

The smithy got that 'I'm still in love.' look on his face. "She's finer'n frog's hair, Dan'l. Told me to be sure and ask you to come share a meal before you leave. And how are Rebecca and the children?"

Daniel rolled his shoulders and stretched up to the sky, groaning the kinks out of his tall form. "They're fine too, Andy, thanks for askin'. When you two gonna come visit us? "

"You know Sadie, she can't ever leave that boarding' house of hers."

Daniel's eyes lit up. "Boardin' house, since when?"

"See how long it's been since you been here, Dan'l? She turned that little eating place of hers into a right nice boarding' house 'bout a year ago."

Daniel slapped him on the back and almost knocked the littler man over.

"Well fancy that, me and Becky will have to come visit you sometime then."

Andy looked up at him. "I'm gonna hold you to that, Dan'l."

When Andy saw Daniel was getting a little fidgety, he got down to business. "I got the wagon stashed in the brush over by Simmons Pond. Thought you might want to know before you went on into town."

"Good a hidin' place as any. Did you have any trouble gettin' it?" the frontiersman asked him

"Not a bit." Andy answered. "So can I go tell Sadie you'll be joining us today?"

Daniel shook his head and closed his eyes. "Oh I can taste those biscuits right now, but I really gotta get on the trail."

Slapping his tall friend on the back Andy pointed toward the road and indicated they should start walking. "She knew you would say that," he grinned. "So she packed you a basket of food for the trip. It's under the seat in the wagon."

Daniel's green eyes lit up again. "Maybe I'll get one of them biscuits after all. You be sure and tell her I'm much obliged"

"I will do that," Andy answered. Then he looked around like he forgot something. "Where's Mingo?"

"He's meetin' me day after tomorrow." Daniel answered.

The two walked as far as at the fork in the road and stopped.

"Well Sadie put in plenty of her molasses cookies that he likes in there too. I never saw a Cherokee with a sweet tooth like his. You be sure and save him some. And tell him we said hello and to come for a visit too."

"I will," the big man answered.

They shook hands again.

"You take care, Dan'l." Andy, the bear said.

"I will, and Andy...thanks again for your help."

"Anytime, Dan'l."

Daniel went down one fork toward Simmons Pond while the blacksmith headed down the other into town. It was a short walk to the water. Bullfrogs jumped off their sunning spots one after another when they heard the sound of something approaching.

The wagon was just where Andy had said. Two big work horses were tethered nearby, one black, one gray. Their backs came up to Daniel's shoulders. The big man gave them a good slap on the rump. "Well Jack and Dan... how you boys been?"

Both animals shook their heads, whinnied and snorted. They recognized the familiar voice. Jack and Dan had helped the frontiersman bring the first load of settlers to Boonesborough. He climbed up into the wagon and found the basket right where Andy said it would be. Inside it was a sealed envelope with Daniel's name on it. It contained the directions to where he would get the supplies he and Mingo were to deliver. As he read them over, he began to feel the heat of the day. The mighty rays of the daystar made his tussle of reddish brown hair hot under his coonskin hat. Daniel looked up at it.

The sun was directly overhead.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

A Lost Allegiance

Something was very different, Mingo could tell. The glare of the sun was too bright for him to open his eyes. He had to squint to see anything. He tried blocking the bright light with his hands, but he couldn't move them. His skull felt like it had been split in two again. It took a moment for the fuzziness in his head to clear. Then he remembered, Gore had untied him just before he lost consciousness.

Mingo was no longer standing, but laid flat on his back on a cold, hard surface. His hands were tied tightly together again, but stretched over his head this time. His feet and legs were cold and wet and they had taken his shirt. He was helpless, vulnerable, and all together in his captors' control.

Crystal Falls roared in his ears, and its light mist sprayed on his face. When he was finally able to focus on his surroundings it was very evident where he was...Talota's Rock. Mingo was hanging over the edge, his legs placed under the rushing waters. All that kept him from going over was the rope that bound his hands. His insides shuddered with the boyhood fear he thought he had overcome. That day, twenty years ago when Tara Mingo had pushed him into the cold waters now seemed very near.

Simon Gore's nasal voice carried over the crushing noise of the deluge. "Now then, Mingo, my blood brother, you seem to be in quite a predicament." The outlaw was standing on the rock beside him. All Mingo could see was the black silhouette of Gore's form as he looked down on him.

"I've got it from a good source that swimming isn't one of your favorite past times," Gore said with his toothy grin. "And all Petch and Henri have to do is let go of that rope and you are a goner." He motioned to his men who gave a hearty tug on the rope. Mingo felt the muscles in his arms pull tighter and tighter. Gore laughed as the Indian shut his eyes and pursed his lips to hide his discomfort.

The Cherokee warrior was fighting hard within him to be strong. "Once again you have incorrect information, Gore," Mingo told him. "I have always loved the water. I was raised by this river, and spent most of my childhood here." In his own mind he was trying to convince himself as well as Gore. Any attempt to free his hands was useless. They were bound together tighter than before. And even if he could free them, it would result in nothing, but a long drop into the cold water below.

"Well good then," Gore smirked and nodded to his two cohorts who held Mingo's fate in their hands. They lowered the Indian slowly into the rushing waters. It beat violently on his chest, splashing into his eyes and nose.

Mingo took a deep breath and held it.

"Any lower, Mingo, and it will be like that cold, dark day when you were a boy...remember?" Gore said.

Mingo's mind raced from the present to the past. as he hung half in the water and half out. He let his breath go and took in another

Simon Gore motioned to his men to bring him back up so the water was at his waist. The outlaw wasted no time. "Where, when, and why are you meeting Boone?" Gore shouted.

Every word was a struggle, but the volume of Mingo's voice let the outlaw know he was not beaten yet. "As I have already informed you several times…fishing!" he answered. He saw Gore make one quick motion to his men. They let the rope slip, moving him lower and lower, until the water was over his head. Before going under he took in all the air time allowed. How long he could hold his breath was another matter.

The burning in his lungs was overpowering, but he fought against letting fear take over so soon. The heartbeats pounding in his head were his gauge as to how long he had been under. Sixty, seventy, eighty seconds, one hundred; how much longer could he last? Then he felt the rope begin to pull him up, but only as far as his chest. He could not draw air back into his lungs fast enough.

Mingo gasped desperately for more. His shoulders felt like they were being pulled away from his body and his ribs and stomach muscles stretched beyond their limit. Each time Petch and Henri lowered and raised him, the rough surface of the rock scraped raw the skin on his back and arms.

Gore got down on his haunches as close to Mingo as possible. He knew Gore could tell his breathing was growing more and more difficult. Peering over the side of the rock into the waters below, Gore looked him in the eye. "That's a long way down, my friend...an ugly way to die...drowning. Let's end this right now. You tell me what I want to know and I will get you a blanket next to the fire and something to drink that will warm your insides."

Mingo looked at Gore then looked away, defiantly ignoring him and so he failed to see the outlaw motion to his men. They dropped him into the water so quickly, he had no time to take a breath. The seconds again turned to a minute, and then longer and longer. His chest felt like it was caving in. His head was spinning. In desperation, he opened his mouth to breathe and the water rushed in. 'Is this how my life will end?' he thought to himself. Then just as quickly his head was above water again. Petch and Henri had pulled him up as far as his chest, but no further. Gasping and choking, finally he caught his breath, but for how long? Only Simon Gore could answer that.

"I'm losing my patience," Gore's nasal voice said. "This is your last chance, blood brother. Petch and Henri can't hold on to that rope much longer. One slip and it's all over."

Mingo waited and waited and waited, as long as he was able. He could see Tara Mingo's face laughing at him. He could hear Daniel's voice saying how much he depended on him. But pain and fear can overcome the strongest of men. Honor and pride become secondary to life. 'Hang on just a little longer.' Mingo told himself. 'Just a little more time.'

"I've had enough!" the shout came from the fugitive. "Let him go, boys!"

The rope slid until Mingo's neck was just barely above water. His fortitude was fading like the daylight. He couldn't face going under again. "Wait...please...no more," he pleaded. The rope stopped with the water at his chin. He fought to keep his head above the Falls. "A secret garrison," he uttered.

Gore motioned to his men to raise him up a little more. "What!"

"A secret garrison," Mingo said again.

"Where!" Gore shouted.

Mingo closed his eyes and strained to talk. He was worn down, physically and emotionally

"Fifty miles north...deep into the woods...I am to meet Daniel one day after tomorrow at Chandler's Crossing," he stopped to inhale, the pain in his chest almost unbearable. "We are to take a wagon of supplies there...food, clothing, blankets."

Simon Gore was no fool. It had to be much more for Daniel Boone, friend of General George Washington, to be taking only supplies to a secret garrison. "Just supplies?" he asked the Indian.

"Yes," Mingo answered.

"I don't believe you!" Gore shouted to Petch and Henri and they dropped him into the water up to his chin again. The helpless Cherokee was losing the battle to stay above the surface. Fatigue and fear took their toll. "Please no further. I will tell you." His voice had lost the defiance it had before.

"Tell me now!" Gore screamed.

"Guns, powder, shot," Mingo choked as he told Gore. His head dropped in total exhaustion, and water poured into his mouth. He had lost the battle.

"Get him up here, you fools!" Gore shouted. "We're going to need him tomorrow and the next day when we meet up with his friend, Mr. Boone."

Petch and Henri pulled Mingo's inert form out of the water. He lay stretched out on the rock he had named for his mother. Gore cut his hands free and the Cherokee frantically grabbed his chest, gasping and choking, trying to get precious air back into his lungs. The more he tried...the more he failed.

Then a phantom voice came from nowhere. "Well now," it bellowed. Two strong arms rolled Mingo over on his stomach and began pushing on his back and sides, forcing the water out and bringing the air back in. "That's it, boy," the voice said. "Get that old water out of there and breathe deep."

Mingo recognized the voice. It was the same voice that had saved his life twenty years ago; on the banks of the same river twenty years ago. He was exhausted, bleeding from the cuts on his arms and back. His shoulders and ribs ached. And yet he was alive, on the outside anyway. When finally he was able to turn over on his back, his chest heaved like the bellows in Andy's blacksmith shop, with every breath he took.

Slowly Mingo focused on two men who were looking down at him. Simon Gore leered victoriously at his battered prisoner. Then he looked into the face of the second man and the mystery of the phantom voice was solved. It was Shelby; the old gentleman Daniel had just introduced him to in Boonesborough. Now Mingo knew. Now he understood...the bellowing voice...the strong arms...Shelby was Trapper...the man from twenty years ago. The only other man alive who would have known Cara Mingo's worst fear.

Gore smirked at the battered Indian. "How's it feel to be a traitor, Mingo?" The fugitive was holding his rifle on him. He was pointing the English musket at the Indian's chest. The cold steel of the barrel pressed into the knife wound Gore had inflicted earlier. Gore wouldn't give up. He wouldn't stop. He jabbed and jabbed and jabbed at the Cherokee. "What happened to that strength from your mighty blood brother, Daniel Boone?" Gore mocked. "No matter now, we'll catch up with Mr. Boone at Chandler's Crossing, isn't that right, Mingo my good friend?"

The defeated Cherokee closed his eyes and let Gore have his fun. When he opened them again, his face told the story of how his dignity and will to fight had been taken from him.

"That's enough, Gore," Shelby said.

Throwing his head back in laughter, Simon Gore motioned to Petch and Henri. They got Mingo to his feet, but he was unable to stand by himself. The two thugs held onto him until the feeling came back into his legs.

"You see what you have done to me, Gore!" Mingo cried in a raspy, broken voice. "There is nothing left for me, but the roar of Crystal Falls behind me and the roar of treason in front." The outlaw's laughter tolled in the Cherokee's head, as Gore's men helped him over to the fire. They sat him down and tied his hands in front of him. Henri placed a blanket around his bare shoulders. His blue woolen pants were heavily laden with the cold water of the Falls. Soaked to the bone, and freezing cold, in both body and spirit, Mingo looked at no one. And he could not bring himself to look back at Talota's Rock.

The sun had begun its downward plunge. Mingo surmised it had been three hours or more since the torture at Crystal Falls had begun. The shadows of the fire danced on the branches of the trees as Henri put more wood on the flames. For Mingo everything hurt, inside and out. The only good feeling was the warmth of the fire. As he sat alone with his head in his hands, the sudden aroma of coffee wafted before his nose. He looked up and saw an older, but now familiar face.

"Have you acquired a taste for coffee yet?" the familiar face asked. The man he had known as Trapper twenty years ago--now Mr. Shelby, handed him a cup of the hot liquid.

"Small world isn't it, Mingo boy?" he asked. Shelby was speaking with an obvious English accent. He stared at Petch and Henri who were still standing by Mingo. The two of them realized they were no longer needed and joined Gore who was resting under a grove of birch trees.

The coffee burned Mingo's throat, raw from choking on the water that almost took his life. He swallowed anyhow and let the warmth run through him. His sad dark eyes met those of the older man who had sat down beside him. "Why?" Mingo asked simply.

Shelby smiled at him." Why?" he puzzled. "Why did the nice old man, Shelby, come to live in Boonesborough after losing his wife and son in a fire? Or why would he work for the British? Because I am British, an Englishman born and bred."

Mingo wrapped his hands around the hot cup of coffee, anything to get warm. Shelby added more wood to the fire when he saw him still quivering from the cold. "I was a British spy long before I rescued that little Indian boy from a watery grave. I worked hard to lose my English accent…to become a colonial…a trapper. Lucky for you, eh, Mingo boy?" Shelby reached over and poured him some more coffee as he continued. "I was surveying this wilderness long before colonists began to settle it."

Mingo shivered again. His voice had begun to get stronger. "But that day you saved my life?" His eyes searched for answers. The Englishman's met his. "I may be a spy, but I'm not inhuman. I wasn't about to let a little boy drown because his skin wasn't the same color as mine. Youth has its innocence, son," Shelby answered as he rose to his feet. "That day you had no allegiance to anyone. You were just a little boy looking for help. Now the tide has turned. You are a man. I knew your weakness, Cara Mingo and I used it to our advantage. I was not proud of what I had to do when I found out it was you we would be going after. Who would think after twenty years? But it was my duty to the Crown."

"The Crown," Mingo mumbled. He hated the word. "I thought I had conquered my fear," he said to Shelby. "Now look what it has made me…..a traitor…to my country…to General Washington….to my friend." His voice was filled with trepidation. The blanket fell off his shoulders. He didn't bother to pick it up. A cold chill went through him.

Night was well on its way, its introduction yet another breathtaking Kentucky sunset. Shelby picked up the blanket and put it around the fallen man's shoulders. "Take it easy, son," he said. He sat back down beside Mingo. The Englishman contemplated whether to continue or not. Then it seemed he decided he would take a chance.

"You know, Mingo, you could always come and work with us. Your English background and knowledge of this wilderness would be invaluable. I know of your Father, Lord Dunsmore and your life in England."

The Cherokee's cold brown eyes relayed to Shelby the mistake in judgment he had just made. "I would rather jump off those Falls then work for the Crown, for my Father." Mingo answered sharply.

Shelby stood up again and threw what was left of the coffee in his cup on the ground. "Obviously not," he answered. The smugness in his voice cut into the Indian's spirited answer "It burrows deep inside a man doesn't it, Mingo, the sound of treason?" Shelby stood behind him talking low, so the others couldn't hear. "But it doesn't have to. You are half English. You would not be a traitor in our eyes, but a hero."

Mingo stood and turned to Shelby. "Yes, I am English, but it is the half of me I chose not to be. I was forced into it by one man. Maybe if he had not pushed me. Maybe if he had not tried to hide my Cherokee heritage from me and all who were around me. I was his shame, not his son. All that was important to him was a bloodline, his bloodline, but only if he could successfully hide my Cherokee blood from his sacred Crown." Mingo had stood up too quickly. His head began to spin and the familiar black dots of losing consciousness appeared before his eyes. He caught himself and sat back down. Besides the near drowning, his last meal had been many hours before. "You wore me down to something I never thought I would be," Mingo uttered. "I have thrown away any allegiance I may have been privileged to share. My loyalty went quickly from me like the rushing waters over those Falls. All because of a boyhood fear."

The Cherokee looked into the fleeting colors of the sunset. "Tara Mingo, you got the last laugh did you not? Like you, brother, honor is now for me just a word. For I have given mine away."

Shelby put his hand on his shoulder, but the Cherokee pushed it away. "You think about it, Mingo," Shelby said and left him alone at the campfire.

The Englishman walked over to the grove of birch trees where Gore was packing up his supplies. Shelby didn't like Simon Gore. He didn't like a man who would sell his allegiance to the highest bidder. But he had his orders. Gore knew the area, as well as having a hatred for Daniel Boone. That, he thought would come in handy. "How far is it to this Chandler's Crossing?" Shelby asked him.

Simon Gore, always on the defensive when it came to authority replied, "Why?" as he motioned for Petch to go over and keep an eye on Mingo

Shelby glared at him. Technically he was the British officer and in charge. "Because I want to know, that's why," he answered.

Gore gave in to him. "It's at least one day's walk from here through hard country. You think you can make it old man?" Shelby was fifteen years his senior, but in better shape than the outlaw ever thought of being. With one hand, the Englishman grabbed Gore by the throat and pushed him up against a tree. Shelby noticed Mingo watching across the camp. The Cherokee knew from experience just how strong Shelby was.

Gazing into the eyes of the Gore, Shelby spoke low, "I've walked more miles in one month than you will in your whole miserable lifetime."

Simon Gore put his hands up in submission and wearing the ivory grin that was constantly on his face, said, "All right, all right, Mr. Shelby, I give up." Petch had come back to see if his boss needed any help, though he kept one eye on Mingo. The former doctor held something in his hands. "It's all right, Petch, just a little disagreement." Gore assured him. Shelby let go of the outlaw. He could tell Gore realized he had overstepped his authority. The hard looking "Dr. Petch" had Mingo's shirt in his hand. He had stitched up the front where they had ripped it off Mingo's back. Gore took it and showed it to Shelby. "Good as new. We can't have Mingo over there, meet his friend Daniel without a shirt on now can we? That would look too suspicious. Very nice, Dr. Petch. Boone will never know we had our fun with his Indian. I knew those doctoring skills of yours would come in handy one day."

Shelby looked at the pack Gore had ready to go, then glanced at Mingo still hovering by the fire. Petch returned to watching the prisoner. "I think we should wait and leave in the morning." Shelby told Gore. He nodded toward Mingo. "He could use some food and a good night's rest." "Is that what you think, Dr. Shelby?" Simon Gore fired back. "You're just a little too fond of that Indian if you ask me."

The Englishman snatched Mingo's shirt from him. "No one asked you," Shelby shot back. "I gave you what you needed to get the information from him didn't I?"

"That you did, sir. That you did," Gore agreed. The outlaw watched Mingo for a moment, and then put down his pack. "I guess we don't want the Cherokee collapsing on the trail while he takes us to the meeting place now do we? We'll leave at first light."

Shelby walked over to Mingo and handed him his shirt. He motioned for Petch to leave. "I'll watch him." Shelby said. Petch looked at Gore who nodded. He left them alone.

As the tall Cherokee stood up, he let the blanket around his sore shoulders fall to the ground. Then he put his hand to his chest and grimaced. Shelby heard him and noticed the open gash on his chest. It was still bleeding. "Who did that?" Shelby asked him. He hadn't seen it before.

"Who do you think did it, Mr. Shelby or Trapper, or whatever you would like me to call you," Mingo answered. "You were part of the plan to get the information you needed from me, were you not? Your esteemed colleague over there, wished to make me his blood brother so I would trust him." Mingo's eyes opened wide with hate as he looked at Simon Gore. "He cut me, to make me bleed, so he could mix his blood with mine."

The look on the Englishman's face showed his opinion of Simon Gore. "That animal," Shelby muttered under his breath. "You better let me take a look at that."

Mingo pulled away. "It is fine," he said and began to put his shirt on over his head.

The Englishman stopped him. "Don't be stubborn, Mingo," he said. "That needs some tending before it gets infected." Shelby's pack was at his feet. He took out a bottle of witch hazel and an extra shirt. "Sit down here, boy," he told him and began tearing the shirt into strips. Mingo sat down. The older man groaned as he got down on one knee. "Now this may sting a little," Shelby said. He cleaned the wound with the clear liquid. "I use it when my old muscles get sore," he smiled. Mingo closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his way of making the sting of the witch hazel go away Shelby wrapped the torn strips of cloth tightly around Mingo's chest. "There," he said as he put the bottle back in his pack. "That ought to stop the bleeding." He held up the rest of the makeshift bandages. "We will save these for tomorrow."

Mingo put his shirt on and muttered a thank you. He wanted to be angry with this man, but his emotions were swirling like the pool of water at the bottom of the Falls. "What were you and Gore arguing about?"

"Just a little disagreement over when we would leave in the morning, that's all." Shelby answered him. Henri, the Frenchman had been out on lookout. When he came back into camp he had two rabbits skinned and ready for cooking. They were roasting nicely over the fire. Shelby bent down and cut a chunk of meat off one of the rabbits, big enough for both he and Mingo. He handed him a piece. The rabbit tasted good to the Cherokee.

"I understand it is only one day's journey to this place, Chandler's Crossing?"

The Englishman asked in a feeble attempt at conversation.

Mingo swallowed the bite he had taken. "Not to worry, Mr. Shelby. You will arrive at the proper destination in plenty of time so that I may hand over the supplies you are after and my friend, Daniel." He gazed into the fire. "That friendship which I am certain will be over when Daniel finds out what I have done. Traitor is one word that is not in Daniel Boone's vocabulary." He hesitated, then threw the rest of the meat into the fire and listened to it sizzle. " I have tossed it away, like that piece of meat; something of invaluable worth, to save my own miserable life." Mingo couldn't continue.

Shelby had nothing to say to that. He understood what Mingo's friendship with Daniel Boone meant to him.

The Englishman spread the blanket Mingo had dropped, out on the ground close by the glowing embers and pointed to it. "We will be leaving at dawn. You better get some rest." He got some more wood and soon had the fire burning brightly. Shelby didn't like what they had to do to the Cherokee, but he was a soldier and it was his duty. He stretched out on his own blanket to rest. In two hours it would be his turn on lookout.

Mingo lay flat on his blanket staring at the stars in the sky. They seemed to have lost their sparkle. He rubbed the bandage on his chest. The roar of Crystal Falls was not a lullaby tonight. Tomorrow would be a long day, but the day after when they met up with Daniel would be even longer. Sleep came quickly to the tired Cherokee, but not as quickly as did the dawn. They were packed and on the trail before the sun broke over the horizon. "We'll eat on the road." Gore said, "Let's go."

Mingo and Shelby walked in front. Gore was behind them. Petch and Henri brought up the rear. Gore had given Mingo back his weapons belt, minus his knife and tomahawk. Shelby carried Mingo's rifle and bullwhip. Chandler's Crossing and Daniel were just one day's walk ahead.

Tomorrow they would be at the meeting place.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The Meeting

Chandler's Crossing was located on the Foster River where the water ran low. Some called it a river, some called it a creek. It depended on what your eyes told you or what your Pappy called it before you. Daniel Boone called it a river. 'If I can't throw a stone across to the other side, then it's a river.' It was named Chandler's Crossing after a hunter, Luke Chandler, who lost his life, saving two children who had fallen out of their covered wagon during a crossing.

"Easy Jack, easy Dan." the big frontiersman called to his team of horses "Just a little further up the road and we'll meet up with Mingo. You remember Mingo, don't ya boys? Tall feller, dark skin, feathers." Daniel Boone had no one else to talk to at the moment, but his horses, and they were a captive audience.

It was working itself into a lazy summer day. The clouds drifted by the tops of the evergreens and oaks that lined the trail in front of him. An early morning dew had already been burned off by the rising sun. The song of a Cooper hawk and the rhythm of the horses' hooves could lull a man to sleep if he wasn't careful. So the big man kept talking.

" 'Bout two hours to midday boys," he shouted so even the circling hawk could hear him. "If Mingo's not at the crossing, he should be in an hour or so. You know how he likes to stop and fish."

Daniel liked the unsettled woods, no cabins or forts or people around. "Elbow room, boys," he said as his team trotted steadily up the road. The crossing was coming into sight, but no Mingo yet. "Well boys, we'll just have to wait for Mingo a spell, I guess. You don't mind, do ya?" The big man pulled on the reins, set the brake, and jumped down off the big wagon. He unhitched the horses and tethered them where they could get their fill of the grass and water along the banks of the river.

The two giant work horses were just what were needed for the supplies he and Mingo would be delivering. The wagon was twice the size of a normal buckboard. It took four canvases to cover up the load and four ropes across to tie the load tight. The wheels were almost level with Daniel's shoulders.

"Well that means there's time for a nap." the big man said to himself. Daniel sat down, leaned up against the back wheel of the wagon and closed his eyes for a moment. The song of a blue jay keeping sentry woke him. Instinctively he reached for his long rifle, then stopped when a familiar figure stepped out of the woods….alone. "Mingo," he said.

"Hello Daniel." the Cherokee spoke, his voice low. Mingo carried his long rifle in his hand.

He stood up to greet his Cherokee friend. "For a while there I thought you weren't coming…..get lost?" Mingo said nothing. Then Daniel saw the bruises on his face and the bandage on his chest. "What happened to you, Mingo?"

Mingo looked to the ground and did not answer.

"Mingo?" Daniel asked again.

Mingo leaned up against the wagon. He looked like a man who had run too many miles at too hard a pace. I'm sorry, Daniel," he breathed, his voice close to breaking.

Daniel looked at his friend, confused and curious. "Sorry for what?" he began to ask him, and then stopped when four men came out of the woods. Ticklicker wasn't close enough to do him any good. Before he knew it Petch, Henri, and Shelby all had their guns pointed at him.

"You!" Daniel exclaimed as Simon Gore appeared and approached him.

"What my friend, Mingo, is trying not to tell you, Mr. Boone, is that he has betrayed you and your mission."

Daniel glared at the outlaw, remembering the tightening feeling in his chest as he had watched Gore march his family out of their cabin last year when the outlaw held them all prisoner.

Petch crossed to him and lifted the knife from Daniel's boot and picked up Ticklicker. Henri took Mingo's rifle from him. They both stepped back to let Gore continue.

"The rifle of course is empty. And I am surprised, Daniel, that you didn't notice your Cherokee brother was missing his knife and tomahawk. Don't blame Mingo too much, Mr. Boone. He went through quite an ordeal before he turned traitor."

"Traitor?" Daniel repeated.

Mingo could not look his trusted friend in the eye.

Daniel started toward Gore, but stopped when he heard the sound of three long rifles being cocked in unison.

"Are you sayin' what I think you're sayin'?' the big man asked.

"And what would that be, friend Boone?" Gore replied.

"You're workin' with the British?"

"Precisely," Gore laughed. "Does that surprise you?"

Daniel shook his head, "Nothin' surprises me with you Gore, but I thought those Redcoats had more sense than that."

Gore's eyes glared at the big man. Daniel could see he had gotten under his skin, but Gore maintained his arrogant attitude.

"On the contrary, the British saw our potential. Before your militia ever got us to the gallows their network of spies broke us out of jail. They took us to London and waited for just the right mission to bring us back. And here we are. I told you I would run into you again didn't I Mr. Boone? And look who led us right to you for the second time." Gore looked at Mingo who still stood quietly by the wagon, his eyes on the ground in front of him.

Daniel glanced at Mingo and then back to the outlaw.

"Now, I see just how low the British have sunk using you and your cut-throats to do their dirty work," Daniel said. He turned to Shelby. "I take it you're not a settler from Pennsylvania?" The older man shook his head 'no'. "We knew there were spies around. I guess you fooled us all," Daniel said.

"It would seem so," Shelby answered.

Gore walked all around the wagon. As he drew close to Mingo, the outlaw pulled on the ropes that held the cargo. "Enough of the small talk, Boone, after I inspect our precious cargo of guns and ammunition, then you and Mingo can show us where the secret garrison is located."

Daniel had kept calm up until this point. Now it seemed, his anger could not be contained. He turned to Mingo, his nostrils flaring and crossing to him, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and slammed him up against the wagon. Anger flashed in his green eyes.

"Is there anything you didn't tell them, Mingo?"

The Cherokee closed his eyes and drew a long breath. And said nothing.

"Answer me!" Daniel shouted. Still Mingo did not reply.

"You know you not only betrayed General Washington, the country, and me, but all the people in Boonesborough, that includes Becky and Jemima, and Israel. Do you realize that? Do you!" As he slammed Mingo up against the wagon again, the Cherokee touched his chest where blood had begun to seep through the bandages showing there. "I'm beginning to think that English blood of yours has finally won you over!!"

Mingo had finally had enough. He seemed to awaken and pushed back, raising his fists, ready for a confrontation. "You have no right to say that, Daniel! And you have no right to bring your family's safety into this! You know I would never do anything to endanger Rebecca and your children," he shouted back.

"Well that's just what you've done, you traitor!" the big man countered.

Daniel started after Mingo again. Petch and Henri broke them apart as best they could.

"Now, now gentlemen," Gore remarked with a chuckle. "You blood brothers can settle your little spat later. Right now I want to see my supplies."

Daniel backed off; as did Mingo.

"We'll be settlin' this later, Mingo!" Daniel declared.

"You are right, Daniel, we will settle this later."

Simon Gore was obviously enjoying seeing the two of them at each other's throats, but he was in a hurry to get the goods and be on his way. "Petch, watch the trail," Gore ordered, "and Shelby, you and Henri keep your guns on our two friends here--or should I say enemies now--while they uncover our cargo."

Shelby and Henri motioned to the two captives with their rifles. Daniel untied the ropes on his side of the wagon. Mingo went around to the other side and did the same. Mingo and Daniel climbed up on the sides of the wagon to reach the canvases and throw them back so Gore could see what he was getting.

Gore and his men stood at the back of the wagon, awaiting their spoils. Mingo looked at Daniel who nodded back at him. Together they threw back the canvases and uncovered the supplies.

It wasn't the cargo Gore and his men had anticipated.

Lieutenant C. Wilkinson and twelve militiamen stood up. The barrels of their rifles glinting in the sun as they caught the unsuspecting outlaws by surprise. Simon Gore's perpetual smile disappeared. Shelby, Henri, and Petch stood motionless.

Daniel jumped off the wagon first. "I think you boys have been horn-swoggled just a mite don't you?" He stepped up to Gore and his men. "Mind droppin' those weapons, boys and any other you might be carryin' ? And I'll take my rifle back, thank you,." the big man said to Petch.

"You four men go get the buckboard and horses," Lieutenant Wilkinson ordered his troops. "You two search the prisoners for any other weapons they have, and the rest of you men keep them covered."

The men in uniform snapped a salute to their Lieutenant and obeyed the orders they were given. The two soldiers searched all four of the outlaws and took any hidden weapons they had. Daniel noticed that Mingo moved a little slowly getting off the wagon. As he joined him, a look of satisfaction lit the weary Cherokee's face as he lifted his head and met Simon Gore's surprised stare.

Their plan had worked.

Gore glared at the Cherokee in contempt, then the perpetual smile reappeared on his face. "Mingo, my friend, I must take my hat off to you," he said. "You had us all fooled. You played the part of traitor so well."

"Traitor" the word did not set well with Mingo. It had been a grueling two days for him. Even though their plan had worked, there was no sense of triumph for him. Mingo turned and looked at Shelby. He still felt a bond with the older man. This second 'betrayal' of a man who had saved his life, left him with an uneasy feeling.

Daniel walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. "You all right, Mingo?" The sound of irons being clamped on the wrists and ankles of the prisoners rang out through the crisp morning air. "I am now, Daniel," he answered.

But his eyes said something different. Daniel pointed to the blood on his bandages. "Did I do that when I slammed you against the wagon?" he asked, his voice cracking.

"No, Daniel. I could feel you holding back just a bit when you pushed me," The Cherokee smiled. "It was a very fine job of acting though," he remarked.

"We did do a fair job of actin' didn't we?" Daniel smiled. Then he sobered.

"They really put you through it didn't they, Mingo?"

The two of them had tossed a coin to see which man would let himself be captured. Neither wanted the other to be the one taken prisoner, but it was part of their plan and a good plan they thought. What the two friends didn't know was that Mingo had been the target of the British all along.

Mingo reached up and put his hand on his chest. "It is not something I would want to go through every day, Daniel, but I survived. I trust you got the supplies delivered safely to the garrison for General Washington?"

Daniel nodded. "Got em all delivered yesterday and picked up the militia on the way back."

It had been decided that the man who was captured would hold out as long as he could in order to give the other time to get the supplies to the secret garrison and then pick up the militia to complete the trap.

"Mr. Boone…" Shelby shouted from behind them. Daniel turned to him. "In my pack there are some clean bandages. Be sure he gets them, and the bottle of witch hazel."

Mingo glanced at the older man. Shelby had been watching his every move. "He is the British spy, Daniel."

"He fooled me," Daniel answered.

Mingo leaned back against the wagon again. "We met once a long, long time ago, Daniel. I did not recognize him in the tavern. His appearance has changed quite a bit in twenty years."

"Twenty year ago you met him??" Daniel queried.

A shudder went through Mingo at the thought of it. He could see his friend was waiting for an answer. "I will tell you about it one day, Daniel. I would rather not at this time."

Daniel thought about it and then nodded. His friend knew when to stop. An uneasy silence fell between them. Then Daniel said, "Think I'll go over and see if those soldiers need a hand with the prisoners. Why don't you go on over there?" Daniel motioned toward the older man.

Mingo's eyes said 'thank you' to his friend for understanding. He paused to collect himself and walked over to the chained man. Shelby smiled as he arrived.

"You're quite a man, Mingo, but then I knew that the day I met that little boy at the river."

Mingo remained silent for a moment. After all that his captors had done to him he still felt beholden to this man--this British spy--and he didn't understand why. "I wish we could have met again under different circumstances," he said at last. "These are such unsettling and volatile times."

The chains rattled as Shelby took Mingo's hand to shake it. "I admire you, son.," the older man said. "Strong in your beliefs, strong enough to face what we put you through. All the while, we thought we had won and you had fooled us all. You were in complete control of the situation."

Mingo looked to the ground. "I wish I could be as certain as you."

Shelby interrupted him. "You can be certain, son. I am. You are the kind of man any cause would want on their side--loyal, trustworthy, strong. I only wish it was our side you believed in."

The little smile that sometimes showed on Mingo's face when he was humbled appeared. He looked at the man in chains. "I had my fill of England when I was younger, he replied. " But we need not go into that again. No, my heritage is here with my mother's people, the Cherokee and the land I love…Ken-tah-teh."

The name rolled off his tongue like a sweet melody.

Shelby smiled. "The promised land, I remember when Cara Mingo told me that long ago." He glanced at Gore and his men and continued. "They are vultures--men with no values, no honor, ruled only by the sound of the mighty coin in their pockets. I believe in the Crown. You believe in your Ken-tah-teh--you and your friend, Boone. We are honorable men, and that is what is most important. We just happen to be on opposite sides of the fence."

Lieutenant Wilkinson came over to them. "Time for him to go, Mingo," he said.

The three men walked toward a buckboard that was already loaded with two of the prisoners. The soldiers had hidden it in the woods about a mile down the road from Chandler's Crossing, along with six militia mounts and a team to pull it. After which they took their hiding place in the back of Daniel's wagon for the trap. That was why Daniel had spoken so loudly to his horses--so the "boys" in the back would know just what was going on outside.

Shelby shook Mingo's hand one last time "I'm proud to have known you, Mingo," he said. Lieutenant Wilkinson then helped the prisoner into the back of the buckboard. Shelby leaned over the side and added softly, "And your father would be proud too."

The Mingo who nodded had the mixed emotions of a young boy and a grown man. "That would be too much to ask for," he mumbled. He knew he would have to be satisfied with those words coming from the man he would always know as Trapper.

Simon Gore was the last of the prisoners to be put in the back of the buckboard. Mingo looked up at him as Daniel came to stand beside him.

"Well Mr. Boone, it seems you have won the prize again." Simon Gore held his manacled hands out in front of him. Daniel nodded as Mingo came to his side. "Looks like it," he answered. 'And let me tell you this, Gore. Me and Mingo are gonna put the ropes around your necks ourselves this time."

"That remains to be see, Boone," Gore--ever the optimist, replied He then turned to the man who had been their prisoner for two days. "Mingo, my friend I have to commend you again. You took all we could hand you and then some. You were very convincing as a desperate man and traitor." Mingo's dark eyes glared at the outlaw, knowing his game, but feeling its sting nonetheless. "Or maybe it wasn't an act at all. Are there still some questions in your heart, Mingo?"

Mingo clenched his fists. This was nothing more than the desperate act of a sick man--a lunatic trying to plant seeds of doubt in the mind of the one who had beaten him at his own game.

Gore's nasal laugh cut through Mingo like it did the first day at Crystal Falls. Then Mingo saw Shelby. The older man winked at him, inclining his head towards Gore, he then knocked the outlaw to the floor of the buckboard. As one of the militia men moved to intervene, Shelby gave him a big smile.

The hint of a grin appeared on the Cherokee's face. His fist went to his heart as he looked at Shelby. "God speed," he whispered.

"Gidyap!" the driver of the buckboard shouted to his team. The back of the smaller wagon held the four prisoners and six militia men. Lieutenant Wilkinson and his other five men rode along side on horseback.

Daniel and Mingo stood together, and watched until the buckboard and entourage of militia men and their prisoners were out of sight.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Questions and Doubts

Jack was easier to hitch up to the wagon than his counterpart, Dan. Daniel could see the big gray was giving his Cherokee friend, Mingo, a hard time. He had to laugh as he listened in on the speech the Oxford-educated man was giving the animal. "Now Daniel, if you continue to resist my efforts, I will make certain that Jack receives your share of oats for dinner this evening." The big frontiersman edged up behind the Cherokee, "Why don't you try callin' him Dan, instead of 'Dan-yel,' Mingo?" he beamed. He saw those dark Cherokee eyes roll at him. The look on Mingo's face told Daniel, that he wasn't aware he was listening as the big workhorse received his Oxford lecture.

"I'm sorry, Daniel, it is a force of habit."

The unhitched harness was still in Mingo's hand. Daniel gingerly took the leather strap from him. "How 'bout you makin' sure all our gear is packed and I'll take care of this big feller." He watched as Mingo ambled to the back of the wagon.

Jack and Dan, shook their heads and kicked up the dirt anxiously with their hooves. First one, then the other. The rattle of their harnesses sounded like Becky's "kettle and spoon" call to supper. Hearing the buckboard and other team pull out earlier, the two horses were ready to get moving themselves.

"Easy boys," Daniel said. "We'll be on the road in a minute."

Mingo climbed up in the front of the wagon and watched as Daniel checked the horses' riggings one last time. He placed their rifles safely under the seat within easy reach. Their packs were securely stowed in the back of the wagon. "Jack and Dan, they have taken us on more than one journey, have they not, Daniel?" Mingo said.

Daniel smiled. "Yep." He patted Jack on the shoulder as he walked toward the wagon. "You ready to go home, Mingo?"

Mingo nodded. "I am ready whenever you are, Daniel." The Cherokee looked refreshed. He had a new bandage his friend had put on his wound and that had to feel good. Mr. Shelby had made certain of that before he was taken away. The rest of the bandages and witch hazel were in Daniel's pack.

Daniel climbed up in the seat beside Mingo. He unwrapped the reins from the brake handle. "I'll drive for a spell," Daniel said. "We ought to be able to get a few miles under our belts before the sun sets." He saw Mingo nod again as he kicked the brake loose and snapped the reins. The horses stepped lively and in unison down the road. "By the way Andy and Sadie asked us to stop for a meal on our way back home to Boonesborough."

Mingo thought for a moment. "Perhaps next time, Daniel. If you do not mind I would prefer to go straight home, or must you return Andy's wagon to him?"

The big man shook his head, "Nope. I asked Andy if I could borrow it for a couple of weeks. Thought I could help carry some logs for the new cabin Malachi Robinson and his wife are building. So there's no hurry to get it back to Allegany Pass. "

"That is good then," Mingo answered, but his mind was not on cabin building.

Mingo's normally reserved nature was extra evident to Daniel as they started down the trail. He had begun to realize that Mingo had been through something more emotional then physical in the last two days. His friend's experiences with torture were many--the Shawnee, the Creek, the white man, even his own brother. It was more than physical cruelty that was bothering him. "All right then, Boonesborough here we come," the big man slapped his friend on the knee. Gidyap, boys!" The team's heads bobbed up and down along with the rhythm of their gait. "Besides I suspect that Becky's got Cincinnatus and Tupper out lookin' for us already." Daniel thought he saw the hint of a smile on his friend's face. It was a start at helping Mingo talk about what had happened to him.

The woods ahead of them was filled with maple and oak trees, a gray and black squirrels' paradise. The July warmth and freshness in the air was a comfort. Neither spoke a word as they rode for a half an hour. Then suddenly Daniel yanked on the reins.

"Whoa boys!" he shouted.

Mingo grabbed his rifle and looked around for trouble. He saw none. "What is it, Daniel, what's wrong?"

"Almost forgot," Daniel answered. He jumped up and handed Mingo the reins. His long legs carried him easily over the seat into the back of the wagon.

"What are you looking for Daniel?" Mingo placed his rifle back under the seat.

"This," the big man answered.

He handed Mingo the picnic basket Andy had put in the wagon for them. Then he stepped back over the seat, sat back down and took the reins again. "Whew! I'm out of breath!"

The Cherokee held the basket in his lap, his eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

"What is this?" Mingo asked.

"Why it's a picnic basket, Mingo. Didn't they have picnics over yonder in Oxford when you were there?" Mingo could see that Daniel's playful side had been hidden long enough.

"Well, most certainly we had picnics at Oxford, Daniel," the Cherokee came back.

Mingo had stared at the basket much too long for the big man. "Well, for gosh sakes will you open it!" Daniel yipped. "Boy, Sadie would skin me alive if I forgot to give you this."

Mingo looked at him inquisitively, almost uncertain, knowing his big friend's sense of humor. But he opened the basket just the same. As Mingo removed the checkered cloth that covered the contents, his face lit up with a smile bigger than a child's on Christmas morning. Inside were Sadie's molasses cookies. The dark, spicy cookie was a favorite of his. One of the good memories he had of his younger days in London.

Sadie Willis made the best molasses cookies in the territory--big, soft, thick, and with lots of extra sugar on top.

Mingo sat with a cookie in each hand. He bit into the sweet treat letting all the extra sugar fall on his lap. He would worry about brushing it off later. The second bite was even better than the first. He leaned back on the seat, and let himself relax. For the first time in two days his weary body rested. He couldn't explain it, but these silly little molasses cookies melted the icy feelings that were cold inside him. Something good and simple, like a molasses cookie, took his mind off all that he had been through in the last few days. It calmed him.

"Well are you gonna eat all those cookies yourself, or do I have to stop these boys and wrassle you fer one?" Daniel's face broke into a big grin.

Mingo started to hand him one, then took it back. His dimples presented themselves as he delighted in his own childish prank. The puppy dog look he saw on Daniel's face made him smile all the more. He handed him two of Sadie's home baked treasures.

"Much obliged." the big man said and had them gone before Mingo had taken another bite of his. The Cherokee gave him another and started talking….talking about everything. The hesitancy had slipped away. He told Daniel about his boyhood fear of the water and how Trapper--Mr. Shelby, saved him on that day twenty years ago and then taught him how to swim.

The horses set their own pace, leaving the driving an easy task for any man on the long straight road ahead. Daniel Boone was a good listener. He understood people, but most of all he understood the confused life of his friend. So he was ready to let his blood brother talk when he knew Mingo was ready for him to listen.

The wild flowers of summer were in full bloom as they rode through the quiet, verdant woods. Honeybees and hummingbirds took turns buzzing their choruses. Mingo reached for the canteen that was under the seat. He handed it first to Daniel who took a big drink, then took a drink himself. He closed it up and set it in the seat between

them.

"I am troubled, Daniel. Did I give Simon Gore the information he wanted because it is what I was instructed to do? Or was it because I was terrified of drowning as when I was a boy? Was it that easy for me to become a traitor?"

"And I am troubled as well that these men have taken from me a special place where I always felt safe to go and be with my thoughts. Will I ever be able to go back to that place again?" Shaking his head, "I do not know, Daniel, I just do not know."

Like the water over the Falls, all the insecurities of the last experience poured out of him.

Mingo suddenly realized that Daniel hadn't spoken a word in forty-five minutes. He stopped and looked at the big man. "I am rambling aren't I, Daniel?" he asked. "I sound like Israel the first time he shot your rifle and hit the target dead center. Do you remember? His mouth could not keep up with the thoughts in his head. He just kept talking and talking and talking."

Daniel smiled at that memory of his little boy. "I remember," he chuckled. "And you're not ramblin' Mingo, you're just talkin'….to me. I think all this has been churnin' 'round inside you right here." He reached over and touched his friend's chest. "And if you don't let it out, you're gonna explode, so you just keep talkin' and I'll keep listenin'."

There is a look, or a smile, or a gesture between close friends to let them know how they feel without saying it aloud. Mingo gave Daniel that look and then took the reins from him. He needed something to do with his hands while he talked. "Daniel, I feel so betrayed. Shelby befriended me as a boy, helped me to overcome my fear and then used that fear against me. He gave Gore the one piece of information that he knew could quite possibly break my spirit and make me commit treason against you and General Washington and the country that I hold dear. "

Mingo saw that his friend was pondering the questions he had posed. "Oh I realize Daniel, that it was our plan from the beginning to have one of us be captured and leak the information. But now that it was I who did so--so easily it would seem," he faltered. "Well, I am filled with doubts.."

The sun was disappearing through the trees, throwing strange shadows on the trail ahead. The hot moist air of summer would quickly turn cool, once the daystar finally set. Daniel pointed to a small clearing. "This looks like a good spot to camp for the night."

Mingo pulled on the reins. "Whoa."

Daniel jumped down and began to unhitch the big horses. "Why don't you get a fire going and start the coffee? I'll get these boys some supper."

The smell of burning wood and fresh coffee was a combination all too familiar to the two companions. Many a Kentucky night like this one had been spent under the stars. Mingo spread their blankets on the ground with a log behind them to lean on as Daniel gave Jack and Dan a rub down and a big helping of oats and water. The pair nickered with delight as he did.

When Daniel returned to the fire he observed Mingo sitting in front of the fire, breaking up twigs into little pieces and throwing them into the flames. It was a nervous habit of the Cherokee's.

Daniel poured himself a cup of coffee, sat down, leaned back on the log, and then stretched his long legs out in front of him. The first swallow of coffee went down easy. "We shoulda saved us some of them cookies," Daniel said.

Mingo stared into the fire.

"Answers Mingo," Daniel said. "Remember when I asked you for answers after Tara Mingo shot Yadkin and you took the blame tight-lipped and mysterious like you can be sometimes. You wouldn't tell us about your brother to save yourself."

Mingo nodded. "I remember."

"So now you're lookin' for some answers from me."

In anticipation, his Cherokee friend broke up the last twig and threw it into the fire. "It would seem so, Daniel. Do you have any to offer me?"

The big man sat up straight, put down his coffee cup, and looked into the eyes of the man across from him. He slapped his hands together, and pointed at him with his two index fingers and then raised them to his mouth. "Mingo, the word traitor and you don't even belong in the same sentence. I don't know a more loyal and honest man than you. The white man and the red man haven't always treated you with kindness, and still you fight for peace between em. Traitor, no! No man better ever call you a traitor and expect to stay standin' while I'm around. And that's all I got to say 'bout that."

"I know such a man myself," the Cherokee added respectively.

Daniel smiled a thank you. He poured himself another cup of coffee and continued. It was his turn to talk now. "Shelby told me what they did to you. How Gore beat you and cut you and then at the Falls…."

Mingo closed his eyes and listened.

"….I don't know any man who wouldn't be a mite uncomfortable in that situation, whether you liked water or not. Stretched out like a hide dryin' in the sun, bein' pulled up and down, hangin' over a seventy foot drop off, knowin' your life was in the hands of a madman like Gore and those two outlaws he called friends. Any man would be afraid, and if they say they wouldn't be…well then they're lyin'. I expect when you get home you'll be able to swim just like you always have. I've never seen you run from a river yet when you've been with me." The big man threw more kindling on the fire. "And Shelby, well he didn't betray you….you just grew up. It's one thing bein' a little boy learnin' how to swim. It's another thing being a grown man and another being asked by your Commander-in-Chief to put your life on the line, by flushin' out enemy spies. Your priorities are different now. Shelby was doin' his duty, and you were doin' yours. And yes I said priorities." Daniel waited for another reference to his limited vocabulary. He could see his learned friend was not going to give him one this time.

"As far as your special place, I'm afraid I can't help you there. You have to face that one on your own…but I'm thinkin'you won't be alone when you get there." Daniel finished the last of his coffee and sat back against the log.

Mingo leaned back as well, considering all of the answers he had been given. "How could one man with a backwoods education, who gets pleasure out of hiding Cincinnatus' suspenders so his pants won't stay up, be so wise in the ways of the world and people?" he asked quietly. Daniel could tell his words had touched him.

"It ain't easy growin' up, is it Mingo?"

"No it is not, Daniel."

Both men sat with their arms crossed in thought. There wasn't another living soul within thirty miles of them, even the night birds had gone to sleep. Still, Daniel looked all around to see if anybody else was listening before continuing. Then he leaned over, tapped Mingo on the shoulder and whispered.

"Just between you and me, Mingo. I hate mice. I've hated em since I was a young'un and one of the little critters ran up the leg of my breeches in the middle of church meetin' You never saw so many ladies hide their eyes when I stripped off those breeches in front of the whole congregation…stood there in my long underwear. I was, ten years old and already six foot tall, standin' half naked in the middle of the Lord's house. Why the preacher almost……"

Daniel had to stop

Mingo was laughing so hard he held onto his sides to ease the hurt of his bruised ribs. The Cherokee couldn't catch his breath. Tears ran down his bronzed cheeks. "Oh Daniel," he said. "Please no more. That is a picture I am not sure I want painted in my mind. Who would ever think the mighty woodsman, Daniel Boone is afraid of mice?" And with that, he started to laugh all over again. "Standing in the middle of a church meeting in your long underwear!" He howled. "Wait until I get back to Boones…." Mingo froze as he was abruptly interrupted by a finger, shaking violently in front of his nose.??

Daniel did he best to maintain a severe tone, but it was useless. Still he did his best. "If I find out anyone else back in Boonesborough knows about this. If one person puts a mouse in my pack or in my pocket,…If Cincinnatus makes sure there's a mouse in my chair 'fore I set down, or if my own son hides one of them little critters in my boot, I'll find you, Mingo, and I'll hang you upside down by your heels from that big sycamore tree in our front yard." Daniel's straight face lasted no more than two seconds before he started laughing with his friend. He could see the Cherokee was trying to regain his composure as well, but with very little success.

"Oh Daniel, it feels very good to laugh, even if it is painful." Mingo said, drawing a deep breath. Then he stretched out on his blanket. Daniel watched him lie down and gaze at the stars. They had got their sparkle back for him. Daniel smiled. Apparently his friend had all the answers he needed.

The two friends settled in for the night, as they had many times before by a warm campfire. Both had their long rifles close by their sides.

Daniel pulled his coonskin cap over his eyes and yawned, then stretched--a ritual Mingo had observed many times before.

"Good night, Daniel."

"Night, Mingo."

"Daniel?"

"Yep."

"Thank you."

"Get some sleep." The big man reached over and slapped his friend on the knee.

"Daniel?"

"Yep."

"There are still two cookies left in the picnic basket."

Daniel chuckled, "Sounds like a good breakfast to me."

"To me too," Mingo closed his eyes.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Home

In the three days Mingo and Daniel had been back in Boonesborough no one in the settlement had asked how their trip had gone or what had happened. For Daniel Boone and Mingo, it was a common occurrence to be gone for days on end. Only one person had her concerns about their so-called "supply run" to Curran's Settlement.

They had broken up a British spy ring, captured Simon Gore and his outlaws, and at the same time delivered supplies to a secret garrison for General Washington. And after all they had done, the two patriots had strict orders to tell no one where they had been, not even Mrs. Daniel Boone.

Rebecca worried about the two of them constantly. So when she asked about the bruises on Mingo's face and cut on his chest, the two friends were forced to fabricate a story. Not something the two men enjoyed doing, but something they had done on previous occasions to save her from knowing the real danger they put themselves in at times. And although she knew better than to believe them, Rebecca let them spin their yarns for their own satisfaction, and for her entertainment.

A light rain had been falling all day. The dry ground drank up the moisture like Daniel after one of Becky's ham suppers. He and Mingo stood on the front porch of the Boone cabin watching Israel put his stamp on all the mud puddles in the yard .

"Has she asked you yet?" Mingo's voice was without its usual composure.

"Asked me what?" Daniel came back.

"You know what, Daniel. What she always asks you, where have we been and what have we been doing.?

"Oh that. No, she hasn't asked me yet," Daniel replied. He waved to Israel who was enjoying the long-needed rain shower.

"Well, I would wager that she will ask us both at the supper table this evening. Don't you think we ought to prepare?" the uneasy Cherokee inquired.

"Prepare what?" Daniel hid his smile as he turned and sat down on one of his two porch benches.

An exasperated, Mingo looked down at his friend, "Now Daniel, this is no time for your games. It is a serious matter. What are we going to tell her?"

"What's a serious matter?" the voice with just a hint of a brogue asked.

Mingo jumped, as Rebecca Boone joined them on the porch. The shapely red head wore an apron over her dress and was armed with a wooden spoon. "Oh hello Rebecca, how are you this fine rainy afternoon? My but your hair looks lovely this day."

Mingo's attempt at flattery managed to quell her curiosity for only a moment. "Why, thank you, Mingo." The Irish woman eyed the two men in her life. "Did I remember to tell you how nice it is to have you both back home?"

"Hi Ma!" Israel shouted.

Becky turned to see their son up to his bare ankles in mud puddles. "Israel!! Oh, it's too late now."

Mingo glanced at Daniel and then turned back. When he did, he found himself face to face with Rebecca Boone. He grinned at her--it was a meek grin, but a grin nonetheless--and took one step backward. "It is very nice to be back home, Rebecca," he said, his rich baritone voice changing to tenor. Daniel, his good friend, sat untouched by the events unfolding about him. He was whittling on a piece of birch bark.

" Now, when are you two going to tell me what happened to you?" Mingo blinked at her tone. The wooden spoon in Becky's hand suddenly took on the appearance of a weapon.

Mingo considered Becky's pose--the hands on her hips were a sure sign of concern. He knew he was in trouble and would have to think fast to get out of this alive. "What do you mean what happened to us, Rebecca?" He could think of nothing else to say.

Daniel rolled his eyes seeming to express his disappointment at how inept he was proving at handling a woman.

"Mingo, you came home with bruises on your face and arms, holding on to your ribs, and Dan hasn't a scratch on him. Now what happened with you two?"

Daniel stood up, wearing his lop-sided, story-telling grin, "Well Becky it was like this."

Mingo stepped in front of him, cutting him short. "You know, Rebecca, how it is whenever Daniel and I travel together. A white man will call me half-breed and I will ignore him and continue to walk down the street. Your husband however, my friend, feels it is his sworn duty as my friend to defend my honor and so the ruckus, as he calls it, begins."

The lady of the house listened as she always did, hands still on her hips, and toe now tapping.

Mingo kept an eye on the wooden spoon in her hand. "This time Daniel decided to take on the entire male population of Finch Lake, Kentucky. It began when one of their fine citizens called me a 'savage' and threw his ale in my face. Daniel punched first one citizen, then the next and then the next. And I as Daniel's friend, felt it was my duty to also take part in the confrontation." Mingo smiled at the red-haired beauty, but she was not smiling back. He had run out of ideas and looked again to Daniel for help.

"That's right Becky and you know Mingo ain't as good a fighter as me, so he tends to get a mite bruised up," Daniel added in delight.

Mingo's raised eyebrows told Daniel what he thought of his pugilistic skills being called into question.

Rebecca's unbelieving face sent a cold chill through him. He would rather face a Shawnee hunting party, Mingo thought, than Daniel's gem of the Emerald Isle. Mingo backed up, until he ran out of porch. Rebecca hid her laugh as he grabbed onto the post to keep from falling off. Then she placed her finger on the front of his shirt and attacked, "And this gash on your chest that I cleaned and bandaged that first night you came home?" The chorus of her toe-tapping grew louder. "What is the explanation for that?"

Mingo looked again to his blood brother for support; Daniel looked back at him and shrugged his shoulders. They both looked at the beautiful woman and began to speak at the same time. She put one finger over his mouth and the wooden spoon over her husband's.

The two heroes stood perfectly still, like schoolboys in trouble.

"Now I know where Israel gets his talent for telling stories," she said, the Irish in her eyes sparkling. "No! Don't tell me," she said. "Do not tell me. I don't even want to know how you got that cut!" And with that, Rebecca turned and walked back into the cabin. "Supper will be ready in an half an hour," she called as she shut the door.

The two friends wiped the sweat off their brows and sat down.

"What do you mean telling your wife I do not fight as well as you, Daniel?"

"Now Mingo, you know I was just tryin' to get us out of a fix."

"Remember the mice, Daniel."

"Remember the sycamore tree, Mingo."

The two of them argued as the rain continued to fall. Finally Israel roared, "Ma says, supper's ready!"


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Epilogue

The rain had stopped overnight. All that prevailed was the sweet smell of wet birch bark.

'It was good to be home,' Mingo thought just as he had told Rebecca the night before. It was the 18th of July on the white man's calendar, the date Mingo had deduced as the day his mother died. He had not been back to Talota's Rock since Gore and his men had tortured him there.

His mother filled his thoughts this day as his moccasins carried him slowly down the trail to Crystal Falls. In the evening, he would visit her burial site and sing the Cherokee song of death for her, but right now he hoped in his heart she would help him get back what he was afraid he had lost.

The roar of the Falls grew closer and closer with each step he took. His chest pounded as he found himself standing on Talota's Rock. The midday rays of the sun filled the mist with ribbons of dancing light. There was no wind, only stillness.

An uneasy stillness.

Mingo sat down at the familiar place and remembered the pain he had gone through the last time he had been there. Closing his eyes, he saw her beautiful face--an image only a son could have of his mother. Her name meant the "Singing Wind" and he began to sing a song she used to sing to him. Her rich voice and Cherokee heart had been passed on to him.

"Listen my little one, for I am always here.

Reach into your heart and know I am near.

I will sing through the wind, and the water and the wood.

And praise the Great Spirit who gives us all that is good."

"I would never leave you, to go far away.

I am with you, inside you, now and everyday.

I will sing through the wind, and the water, and the wood.

And praise the Great Spirit who gives us all this is good."

Mingo stopped and listened.

"I am cold with doubts and fears, my mother. Sing them away for me," he prayed.

Mingo sat in the stillness, and looked out over the green valley below. The fluttering leaves of the poplars shimmered in the sun light, as a warm, gentle wind enveloped him. It filled him with the security and warmth he had known before. Daniel was right, he would never be alone in his special place.

The answers Mingo sought had been given to him by his closest friend and his mother on this day. This place was once again a scene of contentment and peace, not torture and fear. Here he felt closest to her spirit and his Cherokee heritage.

It was and always would be their place….Talota's Rock.

The End


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